Flash Cannon
by Fullmetal Wetback
Summary: Follow Remy Yucatan and his band, Flash Cannon, as they embark on a journey to become the greatest band in America, paying for trip by obtaining the prize money from the most prestigious Gyms in the U.S. Rated for drug abuse and swearing. Lots of it.
1. Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner

**A/N: Howdy-Doody everyone! Contrary to popular opinion, I have not, in fact died…at least not yet. And to prove to you (and myself) that I'm still alive, I've decided to write a fanfiction in honor of my favorite childhood TV show. Pokémon! Like my other long-abandoned fic, **_**Pokémon World,**_** it's set in an alternate version of this reality, except in which Pokémon are real. Unlike my other fic, it's all about a band called Flash Moon, centering on the vocalist. I will be using some songs by well-known artists, so I don't own any of those. Oh, well. Anyway, with that in mind, you can start reading now. Hi ho fanfic….AWAY!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own shit.**

First Session-Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner

Music blaring from bass-challenged amps? Check. Store-bought strobe lights hanging from a hook on the garage? Uh-huh. A disco-light swirling around somewhere on a chair? Yep. An area rug in place of a real stage? You know it's gotta be a South Central backyard punk show.

A few weeks ago, if I was at a little show like this one, I'd be in the pit, maybe smoking a blunt or pounding a forty with the best of 'em. But now, I'm on the area-rug-stage, guitar in hand and mike in front of me.

It's actually pretty serendipitous how I got the positions of lead singer and second guitar in the band now known as Flash Moon. See, my best friend, Sam's boyfriend used to be in a band called The Yellowtails or something, but the singer, lead guitarist, and bassist all called it quits, leaving said boyfriend and the drummer in need of some band mates. Sammie clued me in, and me and her brother Chuck filled the positions quite cozily. A half-dozen practice sessions later, we became Flash Moon.

I scan the crowd past the pit of writhing bodies and pick out Sam easily. It's not really hard, considering her hair looks like a horrible dye job gone right. Most of her long, ponytailed hair is black, but a few streaks are multicolored in a completely random, but entirely cool way. The only color that isn't in her quaff is orange, because, quoting her, 'orange is icky.' Her pale skin is stained by the flashing disco light next to her, but her icy eyes stay the same. She catches me looking and grins, then goes back to staring at her boyfriend, nodding her head to the rhythm.

Standing nearby is her ever-faithful Persian, Salem. Salem's a strange one for sure, just like Sam. Where normal Persians are buff or white, this one's black with a blue gem in its forehead instead of the traditional red one.

Making sure I don't fuck up on the song, I turn to find Damien deep in concentration over his guitar. He went from being second to first guitar in the band, and had to make that leap in skill sets to pull it off, but pull it off he did. He's got what you'd call 'classically handsome features,' with a strong, stubble-shadowed jaw, perfect blonde hair forever, and penetrating blue eyes. Working behind the shadows with my Luxray, Thor, is his Electavire, using their Charge skill to power the amps for our set, but between the two, they've got enough juice the light all of L.A. County for at least a week.

A slight lag in the bass part of the bridge makes me turn to Chuck, who gives me a shrug and a grin before plugging back into the amp and continuing on. Stupid idiot. We've been friends since he was born, given the fact that I was friends with his sister when it happened. He's already three inches taller than me, even though he's two years younger than me. In his words, he's 'hotter' than me, too, but that's just opinion. His eyes are the only thing he has in common with his sister. Dishwater blonde hair, ruddy skin, and a rather large nose, not to mention being a giant, all attest to the fact that he's swimming on his dad's side of the gene pool. Chuck's Munchlax, Pit, is somewhere around here, more than likely stuffing his face.

Directly behind me is Christian Ulrich, the band's drummer. He's thick and tall, like an oak tree, and twice as strong, but _damn_ does that dude have rhythm. I mean, Chris could literally out-drum a Machamp. He does it all the time with his Fighting-type friend Atlas. He's got feathery ginger hair and a matching complexion and hazel eyes and a whole helluva lot of facial hair. He looks kinda like a lumberjack sometimes, like now. Especially with his red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his Levi's all ripped to hell.

And of course, there's me. Remus Esteban Mìguel Yucatán. Yeah, I got four names, wanna fight? It also helps that my initials spell out my nickname, too. My mom, God rest her heroin-addicted soul, was thinking ahead when she thought up my name. Prematurely gray hair (started to gray around the temples at age eight. The full transformation was complete by age thirteen) hangs like a scruffy mop over my intense (or so I've been told) purple eyes and aquiline (though not as beak-like as Chuck's) nose. My lips are too thin for my tastes, and a shade or two darker than my sorta mocha-colored skin.

Now that Damien's solo's over, I have to add my voice back to the song for the last part as everyone's instruments built up to the crescendo.

_Baby, you need him and I could be him_

_Hell, I could be an accident, but I'm still trying_

_And that's more than I can say for him_

_So where is your boy tonight? I hope he is a gentleman_

_And maybe he won't find out what I know_

_That you were last good thing about this part of town_

_Where is your boy tonight? I hope he isn't settled in_

_And maybe he will find out what I know_

_A little too late when my foot kicks him out of town_

After a couple blasts on the three string instruments, the song ends to some decent applause. At least, it was better than what the last three bands got, so I'm feeling optimistic about it.

"Alright, so that's our last song for tonight," I shout to the crowd. The ending words always fall to the singer. "Look for us on Myspace and Facebook. We're Flash Moon, now have a shit-faced night everyone!"

Another cheer, probably more for my mentioning alcohol than for the actual music, but I'll take it. I give a yank on my plugs and start wrapping the cords around my mike as we get off the stage to make room for the next band. Thor and Electavire come out from behind the amp towers, electrical discharge still sparking from their fur.

"What's up, buddy?" I say to Thor, patting him on the head. Any lower and the static electricity would've shocked the hell out of me. Trust, it's happened before, and it'll more than likely happen again. In answer, my Luxray growls deep in his throat, a sign of relaxation.

"Great set, boys," Sammie quips as soon as we're off the stage, Salem sauntering along next to her. Luckily, the band before ours let Chris use their drums, so there's no snares and high-hats for Atlas to put away or anything. Sam pulls off her bright purple backpack and unzips it, revealing several drinks for the band.

It's kinda funny, but when I think about it, Sam's like a soccer mom with those little juice pouches for her kids after a game, except these are beverages that kids aren't supposed to drink, and unfortunately don't come in the cool pouch. Note to self: look into starting a business that sells alcohol in pouches. Beard-stroke is definitely required in this situation, even though my beard is too short to stroke properly.

Chuck and Chris both reach for the massive forties nestled into the random crap Sam carries around everywhere, and Damien goes for the Four Loko can. Pussies. I don't need someone to carry my drink, 'cause I got my plastic pint of liquid courage close to my heart.

I reach into the inside breast pocket of my jacket and pull out a pint bottle of some cheap whiskey before taking a long swig from it. And I've got three more in my other pockets, too!

"Alcoholic," Chuck mutters as he pops the top of his King Cobra. I roll my eyes. I'd quote the case of the pot and the kettle, but I doubt he'd understand it anyway.

Instead, I say, "Well, at least _this_ alcoholic knows how to keep his guitar plugged in. Next time, try not to do the spin-move. You might not be so lucky next time." Thor's rumbling laugh can be heard over the next band's opening introductions.

"You're just jealous," he retorts. It's not uncommon for him to be paranoid that everyone envies him for his 'natural musical abilities' as well as his 'charming good looks.' Sometimes, I feel like knocking his block off, but it's meant in the nicest way, I swear.

"Okay, Mr. Hotshot," I mutter, taking another pull from my whiskey after pushing my shaggy, dark brown hair out of my face. The familiar warmth in my stomach blooms and starts seeping into my limbs. Ah, sweet surrender.

The next band has already warmed up, and now they've started playing. It's a ska band, which I'm very partial to, since the dance that goes with it is just about the only one I can do without making a complete idiot out of myself. It's somewhat fast, yet with a mellow bass part, almost reggaeish, considering that ska has its roots in Jamaica as well. Even the great Bob Marley has several ska songs in his repertoire.

The crowd in front of the 'stage' opens up to form a wide empty circle of sorts, and people and Pokémon start to skank to the music. Skanking is probably the easiest form of dance, besides the Hustle. All you do is step forward with one foot, then slide it back while stepping forward with the other foot, lather, rinse, and repeat. The circle is to keep the skankers in line, 'cause you're also supposed to swing your arms around, push against other people, and basically do what anyone would do in a mosh pit. It's pretty damn fun.

As evidence, Chuck, Damien, Electavire, Chris, and Atlas all leap head-first into the pit and start skanking their asses off. Chris gets off easy in any pit 'cause he's got a fuckin' four-armed hulk to protect him if he falters, and Atlas has that same luxury, excepting the four-armed part, of course. I finish off my first bottle of whiskey and toss it at Chuck, who stumbles and gets pushed onto his butt by a pretty hot girl. Note to self: make a point of picking up on that hot chick that knocked Chuck's ass down.

I find a couple fold-up chairs and snatch them up before anyone else can. Seats are notoriously hard to come by at these kinds of backyard parties, and I've been standing for about a half-hour, so I can't take any chances.

Sam and Salem are leaning against the brick wall that separates this backyard from the house next door, and I make my way to her, dodging party-animals and real animals.

"Take a load off," I tell her when I reach her. She gives me a grateful look as we unfold the chairs and flop down. I stretch out my legs in front of me and sink into the seat. It may be plastic, but to me, at this moment, it's heaven. Thor and Salem take up positions on either side of our chairs, and I reach down and stroke Thor's jet-black fur. I make it a point to groom my Pokémon at least twice a week, so his coat is soft and shiny.

"You guys are getting a lot better," she states, reaching into her bag of goodies and producing a forty for herself, this one an Old English. She also brings out one of those massive bags of Hot Cheetos and opens the bag.

"You're just saying that," I reply, digging into my own pack to retrieve a couple paper plates. Between the two of us, we're prepared for everything short of nuclear war. And even under those circumstances, we'd be pretty well-off.

"I mean it," Sam says emphatically as she pours chips onto one plate for me and Thor and more on the one for her and Salem. "The melody and harmony are starting to come together better with the beat and rhythm. You're getting used to playing with each other."

"Double-entandres are very dangerous things, Sammie," I inform her, and her face goes red for a moment. That's all it takes for me to burst out laughing. It has nothing to do with the pint of alcohol in me, I swear.

"You know what I mean, asshole," she grumbles, crossing her arms and legs. I've known Sam my whole life, so I can read her body language like a well-read book, and I know that this particular gesture means that she's vewy, vewy mad at me. Not about the stupid innuendo, but about me laughing at her. She _hates_ it when people laugh at her expense.

Rolling my eyes, I sling an arm around her shoulder and shake her a bit. "C'mon, Sammie, don't be like that. If you're jealous, I'll let you know that I already tried with Damien, and he don't swing that way."

My crude humor cracks her icy expression, and just like that, she relaxes her extremities and reluctantly smiles. "Like he'd even be tempted by a butt-ugly distraction like you while he's got me as the main attraction anyway." Thor chuckles again, and I can't fault him on that; she got me pretty good.

I give a mock-gasp of offense. "I'm hurt, Samantha," I say. "I'm not _that_ bad-looking. I only hit a couple branches when I fell off the ugly tree."

We sit back and enjoy the music, alcohol, and spicy snacks while we wait for my band mates to finish dancing. After awhile, an extremely hot girl comes up to us. Her hair's dark, but she's got freckles that I've only seen on gingers, so I'm guessing that black isn't her natural hair color. She's dressed in what I can only describe as _DAAAAAMMN!_

Anyway, she saunters up to us with a Mawile in tow and, after a slight hesitation, she leans down next to me, giving me a nice view of her ample assets. "Hey, do you wanna dance?" she asks me, then, after shooting Sam a challenging look, she adds, "Unless your girlfriend has any problems?" 

Sam gives her the sweetest smile she's got, which has given lesser people diabetes, and says, "Oh, not at all." She looks at me and says, "Go on, sweetheart, have fun with the little slut." Salem and the Mawile glare at each other, picking up on their mistresses' emotions.

Now, normally, I'd have no problem being caught between two hot chicks. But when one is a prospective bed-warmer and the other my best friend, it's not even close. "No thanks, babe," I tell Sam, tightening my one-armed hold on her as I give her an almost loving look. "You're prettier anyway."

The other girl huffs angrily, glares at both of us, and stomps away. She's stomping so hard, in fact, that one of her heels snaps, and she goes down hard, knocking over several other people and causing one of the tapped kegs to fall over and soak her very revealing outfit.

"Mawile!" exclaims the Jaw Pokémon worriedly as she tries to help out her Trainer with her steel horns. This, however, only serves to exacerbate the situation by ripping through her already revealing blouse and making it even more revealing.

I glance over at Sam, and we look at each other for a moment before we both burst out laughing. Our fit of humor lasts nearly three minutes, in which we do nothing but laugh and laugh, and laugh some more. By the end of it, my abs hurt from overexertion, but it was fun, so I don't care.

"Nice acting," Sam chuckles when we're done. "For a second there, I almost forgot about Damien."

"Oh, go on," I say, pretending to blush while fanning myself. "Although you _did_ just lose me some action tonight. I should be a lot angrier at you."

"But?" she prompts, pulling off her best puppy-dog face.

"But I can't stay mad at you, you stupid cock-block," I answer, tweaking her ear a bit and earning a slap to the chest. "Enough with The Face already, you won, didn't you?"

"Damn straight I did," she says with a smirk. "And don't you forget it, either." Then, before I know what's going on, she's hugging me. "Thanks."

"For what?" I ask, bewildered.

"For not ditching me to go with that chick," she replies as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You very well could have, you know." 

"I do know," I say, "but like my inner monologue said, if it's a choice between some smokin' hot babe and my best buddy, I'll pick you every time." I'm rewarded by having my air supply cut off as she hugs me even more fiercely.

I have to struggle to wrap my arms around her and hug her back, and after that, she lets me go, giving me back my precious oxygen. "Goodness, me," I gasp. "If that's the reaction I get for not ditching you, I'll have to figure out what gets me something better."

She blushes again, but doesn't sink to my level by responding. Instead, she picks up the bottle and downs half of her beer in a few gulps. Me and her have been drinking illegally since we were twelve, so I know that I won't have to take care of sloppy-drunk Sammie. And believe me, Sam is a very sloppy drunk. Not like me. I'm the kind of drunk who sulks in a corner while he has a conversation with himself about how crappy his life is. But if that happens, I have Thor and a few other Pokémon to help me back to my apartment.

After a little bit, Chuck stumbles over to us, wiping the sweat from his face. Skanking can do that to a body. He grins at me as he approaches and starts digging into his pockets.

"Got blunt?" he asks. It's part of one of his favorite lines in the movie _How High_. He uses it every single time he's just gotten a bag of pot and searching for someone (me) to supply him with a wrap for it.

"Got weed?" I reply with the other half of the interaction between Method and Red. I reach into my pocket and produce a wine-flavored Swisher Sweet the same time he brings out a little plastic baggie full of our favorite herb.

"You said you only had ten bucks, asshole," Sam gripes. "That bag there's gotta be at least a dub, maybe even a thirty-sack."

"Nah, the big dude over there's slanging like there's no tomorrow," Chuck retorts defensively. "I asked for a dime, and he gives me this big-ass thing." He stops to check out the sack again. "This might just warrant two blunts, buddy."

"I'm surprised that you know how to use the word 'warrant' in a sentence correctly," says Sam with a snort. Chuck glares at her, and then turns his icy eyes on me.

"So you gonna roll it up or what?" he snaps, dropping the bag into my lap.

"Munch?" asks Pit, who showed up as suddenly as a Ghost-type. See, Pit loves smoking weed almost as much as he loves to eat. Almost.

"Hey there, Pit!" Chuck says happily, crouching down and patting the little Pokémon on the back. "I was wondering where you'd got to. Hurry up and roll that fuckin' blunt, man."

I grab the Swisher Sweet and smirk at Chuck. "You don't need to get so bossy," I tell him. "Just 'cause your blunts come out like Cheetos..."

While I reach for my keys, and more specifically the blunt cutter keychain hanging from them, I try to drown out Chuck's whiny retort. "At least I can get more bitches than you."

Myself, Thor, Salem, and even Pit wince when he says that and begin the countdown. Three...two...

"_Bitches_?" Sam's voice is harsh with indignation. Guess I was off by a second or so.

Too late, Chuck realizes his mistake and tries to salvage the situation before pain comes. "That's not what I said! I said 'wiches, like sandw-"

The rest of his lame attempt at defending himself is lost behind Sam's fist, and he stumbles backward. In my experience, you should never, _never_ say the 'b' word when referring to a girl in front of Sam unless they deserve it.

"Shut up, you dick-head," growled Sam. "At least own up to your mistakes when you get called on 'em." She starts to get up, and nearly makes it, but she's at least a bit wasted right now, and I don't want her to do anything she'll regret later.

Sam's ass makes it a couple inches off her chair before I grab her by the shoulders and gently ease her back down on the plastic. "Relax, Femme Fatale. Chucky's learned his lesson."

"Don't call me Chucky," Chuck snarled from behind his hand. He rubbed his nose and held it far enough away from his face to see if there was any blood. "Y'know, you're a fuckin' beast, Sam. I can't even hit that hard, and neither can any dude I know. Maybe Atlas could beat you in arm wrestling, but I'm still putting my money on you."

"That's 'cause you're a pussy," she retorted matter-of-factly. "Besides, I've seen Remy break a brick with a punch," she continued, grabbing my left hand and showing Chuck the scars on my knuckles from that time. Hey, I was drunk and more than a little faded. It didn't even hurt at the time, although I couldn't strum right for about a month afterward.

"But that's because Remy's even more of a beast than you," is Chuck's answer. "If you two ever have kids, you should name it King Kong."

Sam flushes, though with anger or embarrassment is beyond my scope of drunken understanding. Either way, she swings at Chuck again, who dodges to the left, snatches the rest of Sam's Old English, and books it back into the pit before she can retaliate again, and completely forgetting about the sack of weed he just left in my possession.

Grumbling something about pesky little brothers, Sam opens her backpack, and then starts cursing loudly.

Alarmed, I say, "What?"

"Stupid cock-sucker took the last one," she said, shooting a venomous glare in the general direction in which Chuck fled.

"So?" I say, offering her some of my whiskey. "Beer's for queers. Liquor is quicker." I already know the answer. 'I cannot take liquor without a chaser, Remy.' I'd never actually offer anyone my precious White Gun whiskey.

Therefore, I'm extremely surprised when she takes the bottle from me and takes a quick shot before grimacing and shoving it back into my chest. "God, how do you _do_ that, Remy?" She blows out some of the stinging air from her burning throat, and I smirk.

"Whatsamatter? The famous Bottle-Killer can't hang?" Instead of answering, I get a glare as she takes back the plastic container from me and downs the rest of it in one gulp.

Even I'm impressed.

"Whatsamatter?" she asks mockingly. "Never seen a chick drink before?"

I laugh and shake her around a bit. "Don't ever change, Sammie. So, got any pointers on my guitaring today?"

**A/N: So, whaddaya think? Didja like it? Didja hate it? Honestly, I'd like to hear your opinion, so drop a review. The button's right there. You know you wanna. Yes you do. I said **_**yes you do!**_** FMW**


	2. Grand Theft Autumn

**A/N: Welcome back to Flash Cannon, everyone. This chapter covers some pretty heavy stuff, including the awesomeness that is the main character's battling, and his cool Lucario. Awesome stuff, man.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own shit.**

Second Session-Grand Theft Autumn

About an hour later, Thor, Pit, Chuck, and I are sitting in the same place Sam and me were earlier, passing a blunt between us. If I had to choose if I could only either get high on pot or drunk off booze for the rest of my life, it'd be the Mary-Jane, hands down, no questions asked, every time, case closed, end of discussion. Period.

I haven't seen any of the others, but it's a party; they're probably having fun and doing the same thing I am right now, or something very similar. The bands had all packed up their stuff, and now a Dee Jay is pumping out the jams for folks to dance to and stuff.

We're just finishing the cigar full of weed when I see them. That girl with the Mawile has her lips sealed quite securely to Damien's, and that's not even the worst part. A few feet behind them, in Damien's blind-spot, stands Sammie, a plastic cup previously full of beer now on the ground where it slipped from her hand.

I can practically see the gears spinning in her mind as various emotions play upon her face. First is the shock. I mean, who wouldn't be shocked if they saw their significant other playing tonsil hockey in front of them? Then comes the hurt, that indescribable feeling of someone taking your heart and snapping it in half like a God damned piece of peanut brittle!(sorry, when I get high, I tend to think of things like food. Man, what happened to those Hot Cheetos?)

The pained expression is only fleeting, to be replaced immediately by anger. You all know the saying. 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,' and all that good stuff. Well, Shakespeare wouldn't be able to put into words what hath no fury like Samantha Aria Harding scorned. Even I shudder to think what that'd be like. Maybe a rumble between ten Legendary Pokémon would come close. _Maybe_.

"Salem, Hyper Beam!"

The high screech pierces through the current song, and the record scratches as the Dee Jay kills the music. A flash of golden light erupts from Salem's blue jewel, followed by a thin beam of the same color lancing through the night and right at the two apparent lovers.

Damien spins around and his eyes widen rather comically as he comprehends what's happening to him. Poor fella. Actually, not poor fella. Guy gets what's coming to him, in my opinion.

I'm almost disappointed when Electavire scrambles forward and erects a powerful, shimmering Light Screen, which takes the full force of the Persian's energy blast before fading from sight. Electavire takes a defensive stance in front of his Trainer, but Sam starts to run at the larger creature in an attempt to get at her hitherto boyfriend.

"Crap," I mutter, hopping off the chair. I hit the ground running and just manage to intercept Sam before she bum-rushes a fully-evolved Electric-type Pokémon. Wrapping my arms around hers to keep her from scratching or punching me and pull her back to Chuck, who forces her into the seat I'd just abandoned.

Sam's body might have been restrained, but her voice sure as hell wasn't. "You son of a bitch!" she screams at Damien, who's looking very uncomfortable being under the scrutiny of everybody at the party. The girl with the Mawile, however, looks downright livid.

"What the hell's your problem, tramp?" she sneers derisively. "Your man not enough for ya? This boy's all mine, and there's nothin' you can do about it, bitch!"

Oh, it's such a good thing Chuck, Munchlax, _and_ Salem are holding Sam down, or else that chick would've gotten some hair pulled out and a broken nose, not to mention a whole helluva lot of bruises.

"Mawile," continues the stupid girl. "This bitch deserves a lesson. Show her what a real Hyper Beam's supposed to look like!"

The Mawile smirks as she opens her horns, a ball of light coalescing between the jaw-like protrusions, and it lets the beam attack fly.

"Thunder." I speak low, but I know that Thor can hear me. The leonine Pokémon's coal-colored fur crackles with electric fury for but a moment before he looses a burst of pure lightning in a blazing flash of glory that puts the Mawile's Hyper Beam to shame.

The electric attack cuts right through the supposedly stronger technique and strikes the Mawile right in her horns, shocking the shit out of the Pokémon and knocking it right the fuck out.

"Nice work, Thor," I tell him, patting him once again on the forehead. "One-hit wonders, buddy." Then I turn to Damien and the offending chick, who's now kneeling over her Mawile with something akin to disbelief etched on her pretty features. "I don't wanna battle, lady," I tell her. "But if you keep throwing Hyper Beams around like that, I'll be forced to."

"What about your little tramp of a girlfriend?" she shrieks at me. "You're protecting her after that?"

"She's not my girlfriend," I inform her. "And if anyone's a tramp, it's you. That fucker standing next to you right now? _That's_ her boyfriend."

"That doesn't matter now!" the girl says. "You hurt my baby, and now you're gonna pay!" She reaches into her purse and pulls out two Pokéballs; one she used to bring back her Mawile, and the other to release a terrific-looking Tyranitar. "Earthquake!"

The Tyranitar roared, and then slammed his tail into the ground, shaking about three blocks to hell and sending a burst of tectonic energy reeling into Thor and sending him for a loop.

"You okay, pal?" I ask him. The Luxray raises himself up and shakes it off, then trots back over to me. "Well, you're probably not gonna do much damage against this big guy. Wanna sit it out?" Thor bobs his head down a bit, then sits down.

So I pick out a new Pokémon and send him out. The light takes shape and hardens into a Marowak named Diablo. I let him take in the scene, and then ask him, "So whaddaya say? You up for it?"

Diablo smirks and pounds the bone he wields into the ground and shouts, "Maro, marowak wak!"

"Alrighty then," I say with a matching grin. "Show me Leaf Blade!" Diablo stabs his bone into a nearby planter, and it begins glowing green. When the whole thing looks like a neon sign, he pulls it out and hurls it with precise skill at the Tyranitar.

The bone slams into the enormous Pokémon's belly, doubling him over for a moment before spinning its way back to Diablo. "Now, while it's still catching its breath! Bone Rush!"

Diablo twirls his bone like a wushu warrior and darts forward, swinging upwards and cracking Tyranitar under the chin and straightening it up forcefully before smashing his weapon against the left side of his ribcage like a baseball bat.

"Tyranitar, Ice Beam!" cries the girl, a hint of panic in her voice. They never listen, never ever do they choose the easy way.

"Fire Blast."

The thin stream of icy energy that shoots from Tyranitar's mouth melts feet from the burning blast of flames Diablo releases from the bone he's spinning at ludicrously high speeds. Ice is one of Diablo's weaknesses, so we worked to figure out ways to combat that weakness and find some counter-attacks. I've done this with all my Pokémon.

The flaming attack strikes Tyranitar in the face, dropping him on his wounded left side. He makes a couple valiant efforts to get up, but fails and collapses to the ground. By now, the people who were here for a punk show are now spectators to our impromptu Pokémon match, and some folks cheer me and Diablo our victory, while others are calling sympathetic encouragement to the girl and her fallen Tyranitar. From one of the shouts to her, I figure out her name's Beth.

With a quick beam of red light, Tyranitar's back in his ball, and Beth is looking torn between continuing the battle and smacking the crap out of both me _and_ Damien. Finally, she decides and chooses another ball.

"You're gonna pay for that!" she growls as her Pokémon takes the form of a larger-than-average Meganium. "Maggie, Petal Dance!"

"Meg!" cries the Grass-type, shaking the flowers around her neck and sending carnation-pink petals zooming at top speed toward Diablo, who takes the full force of the impact and falls to one knee.

"That's good for now, D," I tell him, recalling him into his ball. My next Pokémon is Hermes, a Pidgeot whose wing is bigger than my entire body. "Ready to fly?" I ask him, and the giant bird Pokémon trills an affirmative. "Great, start with Twister."

Hermes hops into the sky and buffets the air with his huge wings. The turbulence kicks up a green-tinged tornado that slams into Meganium and sends her skittering backwards to stay on her feet. "Now use Air Slash."

With an arcing sweep of his left wing, Hermes creates a rent in the air that scythes through the air and strikes Meganium in her left foreleg, sending her toppling to the ground. I'm about to end the battle with a clean, quick move when a burst of lightning erupts from the side and careens toward Hermes.

With the speed of the oncoming attack coupled with his size, Hermes won't be able to dodge it. So I do the only logical thing anybody in my situation would and step in front of my Flying-type to take the hit.

I've felt Electavire's Shockwave before, so I know that I can handle it. Doesn't mean it don't hurt, though. Even with all the alcohol and weed I've taken into my system tonight, it still feels like somebody just jabbed me in the side with about fifteen Miltank-prods at the highest setting.

When the electricity leaks out of my body and back into the ground, I glare at Damien, who looks like somebody just punched him in the gut. Thor comes over and pushes against me, helping me gain my legs and using the power in his own body to pull the remainder of the lightning from mine.

"That was a bitch-move, you bastard," I snarl at him. "You wanna fight? Fight directly, not in the shadows like some faggot-ass piece of shit!" I whistle shrilly, and his eyes dart around suddenly. He knows what's coming next.

In the blink of an eye, a dark shape seems to materialize from the air in front of me. A lupine warrior colored blue, black, and buff, my Lucario named Lu is always nearby. He hates being in a Pokéball, so I let him be. Especially since we've been friends since I was two and he was a hatchling Riolu. He's my oldest and dearest friend, and my strongest Pokémon.

_You rang?_ comes his gravelly telepathic voice in my head.

'_Member Damien and Electavire?_ I ask him, following the empathic link back to his head and sending my thoughts through it. _Well, Damien was just caught cheating on Sammie with that little hussy over there, and when I got into a battle with her, Damien thought he'd be all cool and send a sneak-attack at Hermes._

_Is that why you smell like burnt chicken?_ he asks me with barely suppressed mirth seeping through our link. He's got a grin on his jackal-like face, though the teardrop-shaped aura receptors on the back of his head are up and glowing. He's tasting the aura and emotion in the atmosphere, figuring how best to resolve this situation.

"So you brought your little secret weapon?" Damien says, trying to play Lu's sudden appearance off. "Big fuckin' deal. Electavire can still kick Lu's ass."

"Based on that weak-ass Shockwave, I'm pretty sure that overgrown cat monster couldn't take_ me_ down, so keep your cock-sucking mouth shut until you're spoken to."

The crowd around us goes, "ooooooh" and Damien's face goes red. "So, are you gonna man up and see just how badly Lu and me can beat you, or are you gonna wimp out?"

Damien's face hardens, and through clenched teeth, he spits out, "Electavire, Thunderbolt!" Lightning sparks between Electavire's twin tails before lashing outward in a jagged line of light.

_Extremespeed,_ I think, and Lu's gone as quickly as he came, moving faster than the eye can track. _Now Bone Rush._ One thing that's really cool about having an empathic or telepathic Pokémon is that you can command their battle moves while leaving your opponent completely in the dark.

Lu appears right behind Electavire, the spikes on his wrists elongating and emitting a blue luminescence. He lashes out multiple times, catching Electavire from behind and doing some massive damage.

The Electric-type falls to the ground, but struggles back to his feet, wobbling unsteadily. _This isn't even fun,_ Lu complains to me as Electavire tries a few Thunderpunches. My Lucario dodges them easily, moving only a couple steps back or weaving his body inches to the left or right.

_Okay, okay, just finish this off with an Aura Bomb,_ I tell him. _Put 'em out of their misery. This _is_ getting pretty sad._

After skipping out of the way of another failed electric strike, Lu claps his paws together, aura receptors up and glowing again, only this time they're channeling the surrounding aura into a big, explosive ball between Lu's paws.

When the bright, pale blue ball of energy grows to the size of a basketball, Lu thrusts his arms forward, pushing the aura attack forward. The ball smashes into Electavire's chest and literally blows him into a wall, where he slumps down, unconscious.

"Okay, you," I point at Damien. "Get the fuck out of here. You," my finger lands on Beth, "had better follow him out. And the rest of you," I add, turning my glare to the rest of the party-goers, "go back to what you were doing and avoid that corner like the motherfucking plague. Dee Jay, spin that shit."

Then I head over to said corner, recalling Thor and Hermes as I go. Slowly, the crowd turns back around, looking for their drinks, and the music starts back up with a little distortion.

By now, Sam's anger has leaked out of her, leaving only the pain. She's slumped over, with her hands in her head, silent sobs wracking her slim shoulders. Salem looks absolutely stricken that he can't do anything to ease his mistress' hurting, and tries to offer as much comfort as he can by rubbing against her side. Chuck looks just as lost, tracing circles on his sister's back in an attempt to console her.

When he sees me coming, I swear the expression on his face can't be any more relieved. Girls, Chuck's okay with. Crying girls? Fuggedaboudit!

He practically leaps off the chair, giving me space, and I ease into the seat, an arm wrapping around Sam almost subconsciously. Without a word, she pulls her face out of her hands and then buries it in the crook of my shoulder, flinging her arms around my neck.

Chuck gives me a sympathetic look before melting back into the crowd, saying something about finding Pit. Lu stands like a soldier next to me, the very definition of constant vigilance, while Salem has his worried eyes planted firmly on his Trainer. He mewls softly, placing one of his big paws on her knee.

Sniffling, Sam resurfaces, wiping her eyes and runny nose on the sleeve of her hoodie. Then she uses the other sleeve to wipe off the moisture that somehow got onto my neck with a watery grin. "Sorry," she murmurs, patting Salem with a grateful smile.

"Damien's the one that should be sorry," I say lowly, my arm tightening around her. A hand starts to reach toward her heart, and then she pulls it back, clenching her fist. I know that gesture; in fact, I pulled that same damn one a couple years ago. "It hurts, huh?" I tell her. She glances my way and I offer her a wan smile before looking up into the sky. "You never think that heart-break means anything until it happens to you."

"Will it-will it go away?" she asks, and in that moment, I see how vulnerable and hurt she really is right now.

"Time heals all wounds," I say sagely. "You just need to force yourself to move forward. It sucks, trust me, I know, but it'll get better. I know that, too."

Sam leans into me again, and rests her head on my chest. "I hate life sometimes," she says bitterly.

"Yeah, well life hates us all the time," I reply. "That's why we have such a strong instinct to pick ourselves back up and get back in the race."

"Stop quoting Sinatra at me, asshole," she mumbled, but I catch the brief smile that plays across her lips. "I'm the one that turned you onto him in the first damn place."

"Well, that's life," I say with a grin. "And you know you can't deny it." I would've continued, but she thumped me in the belly and knocked the wind out of my lungs. I reach down to clutch at my wounded midriff, but Sam's hand grabs mine to inspect it.

"You got hurt," she says, showing me the darkened digits. Extremities like fingers and thumbs always take more damage from electrical attacks. "This happened when you took the Shockwave for Hermes, huh?"

"Well, I couldn't very well let that overgrown Pidgey get deep-fried, could I?" I protest vehemently, but she calms me down with a pat on my arm and a gentle squeeze of my injured hand.

"God, you're such an idiot," she tells me, pulling a Pokéball out of her pocket and cracking it open. The light that escapes becomes Bella, Sam's Gardevoir. "Bells, this stupid human here got himself hurt again. Think you can fix him up?"

Bella nods with a knowing smile, and she clamps her hands together, willing an ethereal pink glow into them. When she spreads her palms, there's a small sphere of the same pale light hovering a few inches above her hands.

"Gar, gardevoir," she says, holding it out to me. It's a Healing Wish; I know because ever since Bella's learned that move, I've been subjected to this technique more than a few times. I take the Wish with my own hands and allow the healing qualities cure the burns all along my body, and when it's finished, I feel great.

"Thanks, Bella," I say. "I owe you one."

Sam leans back in her chair, apparently finished with the whole comfort thing, and crosses her arms over her chest. "I just can't believe that sonofabitch," she grumbles. "I mean, not even _you_ did that to me, and we're not even together!"

"Well, I just have more sense than he does," I say matter-of-factly. "Plus, I'm smarter, funnier, _way_ less emo, and a lot better-looking."

"How do you figure that?" Sam asks skeptically.

"Well, I'm not the definition of broody, for one," I say, ticking off the points on my fingers. "I got into a better college than Damien, or I would've if I wanted to go to college, everyone laughs at my jokes, whereas not even _you_ laugh at some of his crappier ones. _And,_ to top it off, that chick Beth came up to _me_ first."

Sam rolls her eyes, but refuses to reply, which means that I've won this argument. "I still don't know how he could've been so reckless and stupid. He knew that I was coming right back, and yet he still thought it would be a good idea go make out with some random girl."

She looks at me in askance, but I don't have an answer. After a moment, I come up with, "Look, Damien was just too blind to see what an incredible woman he had, and now he's the one that's gonna be trying to crawl back to you tomorrow. It's his mistake, not yours."

"But-"

"No buts, young lady," I warn her sternly in my best father-voice. "Relax, have another beer, and enjoy the rest of the night."

For the next two hours, I play the good best-friend, going to get Sammie more beer when she wants it, chasing off sleezeballs who want to 'console' her after her rather public break-up, and really just offering her an ear and a half-intelligent response to her questions. I've been in her situation before, more or less, so I can give her advice that'll work, since we're pretty much the same person, except I got lucky and was born a dude.

There are also people who come up to me, asking if I want to trade any of my Pokémon for theirs. Pfft. As if.

"Come on, man," begs this guy with black eyeliner on and a seriously goth aura surrounding him. "A _Dragonite_ for your Lucario." The aforementioned Dragonite is standing at the guy's shoulder, looking a bit confused.

"I already said no, dude," I say, trying to send him away. "Lu's my first Pokémon. I'm not trading him, or any of my other buddies for even a Legendary."

"Besides," Sam quips from beside me. "Remy's already got a Dragonite and, no offense, big guy, but Puff is a lot stronger than you." She pats the dude's Dragonite's belly and the mystical Pokémon bugles something akin to 'no offense taken.'

Slumping down dejectedly, the goth turns and leaves, trailing his Dragonite behind, who waves merrily to us.

"I think it's about time we headed home," Sam says.

"Wait, where are you going?" I ask. See, Sammie and Damien live together, but I'm pretty sure that arrangement was shot to hell a few hours ago.

"Well, I was wondering..." Sam starts, but I cut her off.

"Stop. Say no more, 'cause I already know where this is going. You don't even need to ask, Sammie." As we stand, she gives me another hug, and I turn to Lu. "Think you can find Chuck for us?"

_You swear like he's _so_ hard to find,_ Lu replies and vanishes before I can even retort. In about a minute and a half, Chuck's being dragged by his hood by Lu, while Pit's being carried under the Aura Pokémon's arm. _You're welcome._

"Aw, you know I love you, buddy," I tell him, clapping him on the back. He snorts and takes off again, though I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'll keep close.

"Dude, why'd you sic Lu on us?" Chuck huffs indignantly, brushing his back off, and then helping Pit to his feet. "I was _totally_ gonna score with this fine breezy when he just comes up out of nowhere and drags me off."

"Well, now you know how I feel," I say, shooting a mock-glare at Sam, who smiles sweetly in reply. "Anyway, we're about ready to leave. Chris came in his truck, right?" 

Chuck nods, and says, "Yeah, but he left, like before the whole-" Luckily, he catches himself, and rethinks his answer. "Before your little battle."

"Oh, well, then no need to worry about him, then. C'mon, we're getting an extra guest in the bachelor pad." I stand up and grab my guitar case up, then start to head off through the remaining party guests.

"You picked up?"

"Why do you say that like it's a freakin' surprise?" I ask him indignantly, then relent. "Nah, your sis."

"Ah," Chuck grimaces. "Well, no hot water tomorrow morning, I guess."

"Yeah, like you'll even be up before noon tomorrow," I say with a grin. "You're wobbling pretty bad, there, Charlie."

"I'm dehydrated," he says defensively. "Dancing takes a lot out of me."

I snort. "Dehydrated my saggy left nut."

"So didn't need to hear that," Sam grumbles as she catches up to us on my other side as we make our way out of the backyard and into the street.

"Psshh," Chuck smirks devilishly. "You know you like it, Sammie."

Another blush, for sure caused by embarrassment this time, brightens Sam's pale skin, but she says nothing. After a few more minutes of walking, we get to the car that all of us came in.

Oh, my baby. The sweetest Chevy Camaro anyone will ever, _ever_ see. Deep-space black with the constellations of the Southern sky dot the body of the Beast, and a blazing sun shines gloriously center-stage on the hood, with a crescent moon equalizing it on the trunk right next to the spoiler. Big, black starburst rims and more torque than a herd of friggin' Rapidash, tinted windows, and a smiley-face bumper sticker that says HAVE A NICE DAY on the back to top it off, with another underneath it that says VEGITARIAN: THE CHEROKEE WORD FOR 'POOR HUNTER.' There's also a few more, including one that shows how to pick up chicks, one that says 'I SUPORT PUBLIK EDJOOKASHUN,' another that tells the person behind me, 'COVER ME: I'M CHANGING LANES,' and the last one says, 'SHIT HAPPENS.'

And inside is even sweeter. Softened black leather seats with little speckles that match the constellations on the outside, several secret compartments that the cops have no way of knowing about, and airbags that are shaped like pot leaves. Who could ask for a better car? I know I can't, 'cause I built this baby from the ground up, with the help of my now-deceased granddad.

"Shotgun!" Sam and Chuck both shout in perfect sync. They get into a startlingly ferocious game of Roshambo, and while they're arguing, Lu flits into the visible spectrum and slides into the passenger seat like it was made for him. Which, incidentally, it was.

"Aw, you sonofabitch!" Chuck whines at Lu, who gives him his little half-smile that'd make Mona Lisa envious.

_That's not what your mom said last night,_ Lu projects at him. Chuck starts to get riled up, but I shush him and tell him to get in the back. Grumbling, he recalls Pit and climbs into the back, next to his sister.

"Okay, folks, the night's been over for a while, so let's get home and hit the hay," I tell everyone before putting my bad-boy into gear and slammin' the pedal to the metal and taking off like a damn space shuttle. They don't call me ol' Leadfoot for nothing.

**A/N: Wowee, that was incredible, wasn't it? Nah, I know it kinda sucked, but I gave birth to it. Too late for an abortion now. Review, por favor.**


	3. Calm Before the Storm

**A/N: Now, here's the new update! (Applause) Okay, when you finish reading this chappie, you'll know a little more about Remy and Sammie's relationship, and we get to see the cool apartment Rem and Chuck share. Also, Freddy Fender makes a cameo appearance. So...yeah.**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own shit.**

**Oh, and before I forget, I would like to thank my very first review to Flash Cannon, a Ms. HappyHereford. Thank you very much for the input, and the praise. It makes me happy. And as for the rest of you out there...(evil-ish glare and fist shake) I WILL FIND YOU!**

Third Session-Calm Before the Storm

"Home, sweet home," Chuck sighs as he unlocks the door and steps into our shared two-bed, one-bath apartment, and I can't argue with him. This fairly small apartment is the best damn home I could ever ask for.

As a rule, bachelor pads are supposed to look like pigs live in them, but I hate messes. Hate, hate, _hate_ 'em. It helps that Chuck's mom comes over ever week or so with her Master Mime to clean up Chuck's mess.

Well, mess doesn't quite cover it. Think trailer park, post-tornado, then multiply that by twelve, divide by three, and cube it. Then subtract about a thousand, get the square root of that and discover the missing angle of triangle ABC with A being the answer to the first question and B being pi to the power of eight, and solve for _c_. When you finish that, get back to me, and I'll have a medal for being able to solve the most obscure math question in the history of the world.

Anyway, I forgot where I was going with that train of thought, so I'll catch a new one.

I lug my geetar case through the threshold and make a beeline to my room, followed closely by Lu. I kick open the door with my foot and enter my domain, tossing the heavy-duty case into a corner and dropping onto one of the two full-sized beds in the cramped room.

My walls are covered in posters. Posters that have funny sayings, posters of bands I like, or chicks I think are hot, and even some tie-dye posters that trip me out when I'm on one. My room has individuality. What little of the walls that aren't covered in paper are neon green. It's part of the reasoning behind all the posters, 'cause it hurts my eyes when I'm hung-over or when I've got a migraine, which sometimes happen simultaneously.

An electric keyboard (top-of-the-line, with pressure-sensitive keys and pedals) sits against the far wall, with a little bench to go with it. On the little stand ontop of the keyboard are various sheets of music that I've been working on, and an ever-present pencil that I've had since I was, like, four (it's weird how I lose everything except that pencil). A computer desk with a laptop resting on it sits in the corner opposite my bed, with some paper clutter and writing utensils scattered about. It's the only place I let untidiness encroach upon me, but the chaos works for me. A cluttered desk signifies a cluttered mind, but what does an empty desk represent, hmm? Riddle me _that_, Golbatman. Riddle. Me. That.

Lu drops to his own bed almost at the same time I do, though he didn't fix his blue bedset this morning, so his is all messy, whereas my own black comforter and pillows are all neat and orderly-like, 'cause if they aren't...(fist-shake)

Between our two beds is a little black-iron table with a lava lamp, a pack of gum, an alarm clock, and two remotes on it. One of the remotes is for the television set I've got hanging from the wall next to my computer desk, and the other is for the super-awesome fan that crouches in the far corner. That's the remote I grab for.

For some reason, the droning quality of the fan's oscillation lulls me to sleep better than almost anything else in the world, barring a hot night with a chick. But since Sam shot _that_ possibility to hell, I click the second-highest setting on the fan and listen while it whirrs to life.

Lu instinctively curls up into a ball and throws the covers over his head; he don't like it, but I think I could take him in a fight, if I had to. Maybe. Okay, I'd get my ass kicked, but he knows that I sleep fitfully if I don't have my fan on, so he leaves me be. Just like I leave him be with the Pokéball and sprung for the full-size bed for him instead of the twin I was originally getting. It cost me space, but I wouldn't have it any other way for my buddy.

"Oh, shit, I forgot about Sam," I growl, moments after I found my perfect comfort spot on the bed. I debate on whether or not to just let Chuck handle her accomodations before I realize that Chuck's probably passed out in his filthy bedroom already.

_Hah, you have to get up,_ Lu teases sleepily. He's been Extremespeeding around practically all day, so he must be worn out.

_Shut up, bastard, before I make _you_ do it._ Needless to say, he shuts up for about a second before the snores come. Shit. Now I'm gonna have to put the fan on even higher.

Groaning, I heave myself up off the bed and give it one last longing look before heading over to my dresser. Oh, well. I had to get changed anyway. Dropping my jeans and discarding my jacket and v-neck into the clothes hamper near my bureau, I pull open the top drawer and pull on a pair of green cotton flannels and a black muscle shirt before grabbing a too-small tee and some pajama bottoms with Spongebob all over 'em and opening the door to my room.

Sam's sitting on our big-ass black-suede sectional couch, with the sixty-inch plasma TV on. I watch her for a moment while I still can. Sam's a tricky chick; she's on guard almost all the time, except when she's alone, or at least when she thinks she is. She's got her head in her hands again, and her shoulders are heaving with quiet sobs.

Three years back, when I was a wide-eyed, bushy-tailed little seventeen-year-old, I had a girlfriend named Tracey. In my opinion, she was the greatest thing in the world. Red hair, green eyes; she was my little Irish goddess. We'd been together since the start of high school, and I was lovin' it more than McDonalds. I'd given myself to her in a freakin' handbasket, heart and soul.

Then she took it all and ran it over with a herd of Tauros, then had a dozen Charizard spew fire on it, and finally used a Lanturn to sink it to the bottom of the sea. Sigh. Yeah, I was pretty broken up about it. She cheated on me with my then-battling partner, a guy named Sig Harrison, who was a few years older than us and in college.

At that time, I was living with Chuck and Sam's family, since I'd buried what remaind of my family that hadn't abandoned me, and when I caught Tracey and Sig doing the nasty in a Wendy's restroom, it was like pouring a gallon of lemon juice and a bag of salt into a deep stab wound. I woulda jumped off a bridge if Sam hadn't smacked some sense into me, and I mean that completely literally.

She saved my life, in a very real way, and I figure that I owe her some comfort.

I walk up behind the couch, the dark green carpet softening my footsteps, and place my hands gently on her shoulders, dropping the extra sleeping gear next to her. She jumps, then relaxes in less than a second as I start to rub. I've got magic fingers, what can I say?

"You alright?" I ask her quietly, working on the knot of stressed muscle between her shoulder-blades. "Seem sorta tense."

"No, I'm not alright," Sam mutters, leaning back and looking up at me upside-down. Tear-tracks run down her flushed cheeks, and her ice-colored eyes have melted into pools of sorrow. "I'm thinking about how I shouldn't be here right now. How I should be at my own apartment with Damien, and how that stupid_ whore_ is probably sleeping in _my_ bed with _my_ boyfriend." As she talks, moisture spills over her eyelashes, but my thumb's already there to wipe it away.

I sigh, then remove my hands from her shoulders and walk around the couch to the entertainment center below the TV, where my iHome sits. I flick through the music on my iPod Nano before pushing play on the wheel, then go and sit down next to Sam.

"Wha-?"

"Shh," I tell her, pinching her lips closed. "Just be quiet and listen. This is an important song between me and you. Especially tonight."

As a guitar and bass pluck up a soft, country song with a bit of Spanish tint to it starts to play through the Bose sound system, Sam's eyes dry up as she tries to figure out which song this is. Then Freddy Fender begins crooning from the speakers.

"_If he brings you happiness, then I wish you all the best.  
__It's your happiness that matters most of aaaall.  
__But if he ever breaks your heart, if the teardrops ever start,  
__I'll be there before the next teardrop falls."_

While Fender goes into the Spanish part of the song, I rub Sam's back in slow, steady rhythm, and she looks at me with something like a mix between happiness and heartbreak.

"Sam, you're too good for him," I say. "I know that because I know you, and that dirtbag was _so_ lucky to have you, even for a little while, that he must be related to a Murkrow or something with Super Luck."

"Rem," she mumbles, leaning into me and wrapping me into a hug that I reciprocate. "I'm sorry for calling you weak, when I found you on the bridge that night." She looks up at me with such expressive eyes that I momentarily lose the ability to think. "I know how you feel now, and what I feel like doing right about now is throwing myself off a tall building."

"Shh," I gently command, embracing her more tightly. "It'll be okay. I had you to help me out of that jam, and now you've got me, alright?"

"_I'll be there anytime you need me by your side  
__to dry away every teardrop that you cry._

_And if he ever leaves you blue, just remember: I love you  
__And I'll be there before the next teardrop falls.  
__Yes, I'll be there before the next teardrop falls."_

Sam sniffles, then lets out a watery chuckle. I look at her curiously, and she explains, "It's like that song was made for exactly this moment, doesn't it?"

I smile back at her, ruffling her techni-colored hair affectionately. "I'll have to send Mr. Fender a thank-you card." I gesture at the clothes. "You know where the bathroom's at, you can change in there." She gives me a grateful smile and heads for the door across the hall from mine.

Shaking my head, I head for the linen closet and start picking out blankets and pillows for her to crash with. Chuck pokes his head out of the door next to the linen closet.

"Yo, she done crying yet?" he asks fearfully. "'Cause, you know I don't do crying. I'm no damn good with consolation."

"It's cool, bro," I say soothingly. "We listened to some music, talked a bit. I got her straightened out."

"Man, it's a damn good thing that you were there when it happened," Chuck says, coming out of his room fully, dressed in nothing but some boxers and a sock. Ew. "I wouldn'ta been able to do anything with her. Hell, she might've gone your route and offed herself."

"She said something like that earlier," I mutter darkly. "I'm gonna castrate that piece of shit the next time I see him. But seriously, she's good now. Go to sleep; I'll wake you up when Pawn Stars is on."

For reasons unknown to me, Chuck is obsessed with this stupid show on History Channel that pretty much does the same thing a security camera in a pawn shop could do, except with sound. I personally think it's a waste of a perfectly good time slot, but hey, whatever floats people's boats, I guess.

I'm just finishing jerry-rigging a makeshift bed for Sam on the sectional when she comes out of the bathroom, dressed for bed with her hair down. "All done," I say proudly. "If you wake up before me, please have breakfast ready before you kick me off my bed."

She grins at me, then hugs me again. "G'night, Remy."

"Night, Sam. Sleep tight."

Two hours later, at five in the morning, I'm back in my room, fan on full-blast and Lu snoring up a storm. I'm almost asleep when I hear a creak from the general direction of my door. I turn my head around and see Sam's silhouette in my doorway, hugging her body like she's cold. And maybe, with my fan on, she very well could be, but I don't think that's what's got her bothered.

She pads to the side of my bed, and I sit up to let her know I'm awake. "What's wrong?" I ask, flicking on the lava lamp. The light casts the room in red, and her face is scrunched up in something that looks like reluctance.

"I-I can't sleep alone tonight," she mutters softly. "I woulda gone into Chuck's room, but it smells like something died in there. Can I...maybe sleep with you?"

I run my hand through my hair fretfully. We haven't slept in the same bed since we were ten. I remember the very last night like it was yesterday, because that was the night when I realized that I was in love with my best friend, which is why I decided against sleeping with her. But now, she needs someone, and it looks like I'm that someone.

"Sure, why not?" I say with a sigh and scoot over to make room, then lift the covers. "Slide on in, Sam."

She hesitates for a moment, then climbs under the sheets and comforter. Her foot accidentally touches my leg and I jump. Her feet are freakin' _freezing_! Maybe it _was_ cold that she was experiencing at the doorway.

"Sorry," she whispers. "I know my feet are cold, but in my defense you _do_ have the fan on high."

"I can't sleep without it," I reply defensively. "If you're cold, I can go get another blanket-"

"No, it's okay," she cuts me off. "Besides, you're like my own personal space heater with how much warmth you give off." She snuggles up closer to me and sighs. "I forgot how warm you are, Remy."

At this point, I'm fending off hyperventilation while still trying to keep up a coherent conversation with her. "Yeah, that's me: Remy the Fire-type." She snorts in amusement, and I force my body to relax.

My arm somehow gets pinned between her body and the mattress, and she positions her pillow ontop of my shoulder before allowing one of her arms to fall across my belly. She digs her feet into my legs to leech some heat from them, and I pretty much just lay there like a big idiot while she gets comfortable in my bed.

I finally come up with something amusing to say, but when I look over, Sam's eyes are closed, her mouth's open slightly, and air is whistling faintly through her parted lips. Asleep in seconds. Wish I was that lucky. Me? I have to take pills. Go figure.

Oh, well, no use dwelling on what can't be changed. A few minutes after Sam, I drift of to the world where greatest fantasy and worst nightmare live next door to each other, and sometimes, when alcohol is involved, they invite the other over and have a party in my brain.

**A/N: Aha! I knew it! Remy and Sammie, sittin' in a tree, F-U-C-well, probably not in this story. I'm no good at writing lemons. Anyway, so we see what happened to Remy before this whole story started, poor li'l fella, and we see how he uses that knowledge to help out his friend. Next chapter might see another battle, and quite possibly a Hitmonlee-kick to the nuts. Ouch. Anyway, see ya next time, folks. Oh, and if anyone is actually able to solve that math problem, you shall be rewarded-with the knowledge that you can. Hah. You thought I meant a real reward. Reviews are welcome, but hey, I'm not your conscience, and I can't tell you what to do. Unless...unless I can somehow genetically modify a hypno-toad! Well, I know what I'm doing tomorrow!**


	4. Short, Fast, and Loud

**A/N: Whew! Four chapters, and I still haven't abandond this fic yet. I think that might be a record, so to honor that, I'm uploading two chapters at once! I think I'm at the 10G-word mark, but I'm not certain. Oh, well. It's fun to think about, anyway. So, that Hitmonlee thing may or may not happen (you'll have to read to find out), as well as a super-hot cat-fight. Or is it Delcatty-fight in Pokemon linguistics? Damn, now my head hurts!**

**Disclaimer: Why don't I own shit, God? WHY?**

Forth Session-Short, Fast, and Loud

Damn, hangovers suck. Like, more than a hungry Swalot, and they suck a lot. Rubbing my eyes and ridding them of the sleep that accumulated during the night, and morning, I try to sit up, but something kinda heavy is resting on my chest.

I unglue my eyelids and look down to find a multicolored head of messy, wavy hair that could only belong to one person in the whole damn world. Groaning, I try to remember what happened last night. Did I get shit-faced and bang my best buddy? If so, self-high five! If not, damn, but also self-high five for showing a modicum of restraint!

The covers are wrapped around both of us in a way that would've made it impossible for sex, and all our clothes are still on, so I'm fairly certain that we did not, in fact, knock boots last night. It takes awhile for the memories of the previous day to trickle back into my hazy consciousness, but eventually, I'm able to piece together what happened and sigh. Damn that Damien to hell and back.

Well, I can't get up without waking Sam, so I do the only thing that comes to mind: go back to sleep. It always feels nice when you share a bed with a chick. Even if that chick is your best friend/secret crush.

The next time I wake up, my legs are no longer tangled with Sam's, and the weight of her head is gone from my chest. Sitting up, I grab my cell phone and check the time (12: 23 PM), then struggle out of bed and shove on my fluffy green Gulpin slippers and head into the kitchen.

Sam's already at the table between the kitchen and the living room, watching Pokémon E.R. with a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. She's wearing some cut-offs she left here last time she spent the night and a black tank that I'm pretty sure is mine. She looks up when I walk in and smiles at me. "Well, well, looks like Snow White woke herself up from the enchanted slumber," she says. Looks like all her depression about Damien is over with, thank God.

"I thought I said to have breakfast ready," I grumble, throwing some bread into the toaster before heading to the fridge. "You're only here because of the goodness of my heart; the least you can do is act like a nice guest."

"You said to have breakfast ready before I woke you up," Sam corrects me with a raised finger as I pull out some eggs, microwavable bacon, cheese, and manteca. Damn, it, she's right. "I never gave Sleeping Beauty true love's first kiss, so you can't complain about it."

"What's with all the Disney references today?" I ask, dolloping a large amount of _manteca_ onto a skillet after throwing the packet of bacon into the microwave for a minute.

The lard melts quickly as Sam replies, "Not Disney, the brothers Grimm. They're the masterminds behind Sleeping Beauty and Snow White. Disney just lifted it off 'em; hell, that stupid corporation didn't even make up Pinnochio!"

"Okay, settle down, Ms. Scholar-of-the-Year," I relent, cracking the eggs into the melted lard. I sprinkle cheese and pepper onto the eggs for flavor, then move to the cupboard and pull out a spatula. "So, how long are you planning on staying?"

Sam shrugs with an, "I dunno. Probably until I find a new apartment, or at least until you guys get tired of me and kick me out on my ass."

Rolling my eyes, I flip the _huevos _and add some more cheese. "We wouldn't do that to you, Sammie. Well, maybe I would, but your brother wouldn't let me."

She snorts into her bowl of cereal, then turns in her chair. "Hey, do you think you can do me a favor?"

"Depends on the favor," I say suspiciously. Last time she asked me to do a favor, it involved a wild Infernape and lots of pain. I shudder at the memory as I flip the eggs onto a paper plate, then pick out the bacon from the microwave and the toast from the toaster.

"Think you can drive me over to my old place so I can pick up my things?"

"For sure," I say as I assemble a breakfast sandwich, pouring ketchup all over the compilation of yumminess. "Let me just eat and shower. What Pokés do you have on you?"

"Just Salem and Bella," she says angrily, though it's probably directed at herself more than anything. "I only thought I'd need them for the night, y'know?"

I nod, unable to answer around the thick bite of egg and pork and tomato sauce. Swallowing the mouthful of food, I say, "So, what if Damien's there?"

"I kick him as hard as I can in the nuts after getting my things," Sam replies confidently. "And if he tries to stop me, I'll have Legs do it for me." I wince, trying not to think about getting nailed in the jewels by a Hitmonlee. Just the thought makes my sac shrivel up in fear. I know, I said I'd castrate him last night-or this morning, or whatever-but that was just me trying to vent some anger. Knowing Sam, she'd probably follow through with it.

"Even for that slimeball, that's a bit harsh," I say placatingly. "If anything, just kick him in the nuts, then stomp on his fingers. Never sic a Hitmonlee on a man's genitals, Sam. Ever."

"Oh, alright," she concedes. "But I'll need some back-up if he brings out Pokés. You up for the job, Lu?"

I turn around in time to see Lu walk in, one paw covering his yawning mouth, the other scratching below his tail. He glances our way, and I send him the full conversation through our link.

_Of course, hun,_ he tells Sam, his mental voice sleepy. _I'll follow you to the ends of the Earth._ He's probably just saying that to get her off his back, but then again, I'd do the same thing in his situation. Subtle flattery followed by something that makes her feel good about herself is the best thing to say to Sam in moments like these.

I finish with my breakfast, and after a quick shower, shave, and shit, I retreat back into my room to get dressed.

When I come back out, I look around, but Sam's gone, as well as Lu. Hm. I go back into my room, grab my phone, pick out a few Pokéballs, and go for my keys. Which aren't there. Double Hm.

This is, in fact, quite the conundrum. I'm just about to start retracing my steps like a freakin' child when I hear my horn, a sort of polyphonic version of the song _Enter Sandman_ by Metallica. I go to the window and see Sam waving at me to hurry up, Lu in the passenger seat next to her.

Well, there's one way to figure out where the keys went.

You ever sit in the backseat of your own car while someone else drives it (and you're not drunk)? 'Cause if you haven't, it's not really a fun experience. I've actually never had this situation happen to me before, and I can tell you that it's not fun. Especially when I can't choose my own damn music.

After several repeats of _A Little Less Conversation,_ I'm a little tired of the King. I mean, he's great and all, but repetition sometimes is not, in fact, the key. And what's unfortunate is that Lu, who's manning _my_ iPod, is very much in love with the song. He swears up and down it was written for him, and it's his unofficial theme song.

I've got an unofficial theme song for him...

"Enough with that crap already!" I finally snap. I'm sulking, and I know it, but that's not gonna stop me from _not _sulking.

"Aw, is the wittle baby in da back cwanky?" Sam asks in a little baby voice that only serves to add fuel to my rising temper. "Would you wike to heaw some Bawney songs?"

"Screw this," I grumble and pull on the headphones that go with the little screens in the back of the headrest. I'd rather watch some TV than listen to some dead guy sing over and over and over and...

Somebody shakes me awake, and I realize that I fell asleep in the back of _my_ car like an infant, watching-Spongebob!

Horrified, I tear my eyes away from the retarded Staryu and kitchen sponge over to the open window, where Sam's grinning like the Cheshire Meowth himself. Oh, she'd better not...

"I'm sowwy, wittle Wemy," she coos. "I fowgot to give you some snacky-wackies and you feww asweep. How pwecious!"

"Oh, shut up," I growl, shutting off the television and climbing out of the back. "You're sitting back here on the trip home.

Sam pouts, but then turns her attention to the row of single-story apartments. I've always wondered why apartments were called such, when they're all stuck together. It's one of the mysteries of life, I suppose, like how if the number 2 pencil is so great, why isn't it number 1? Or why hemmoroids aren't called asteroids. Riddles within riddles.

The one Sammie shared with Damien is the last in the row, and she, Lu, and I walk slowly down the small concrete walkway.

When we reach the off-white door, Sam hesitates, and I put a steadying hand on her shoulder. After flashing me a quick smile, she takes a deep breath and fits the key into the slot, then opens the door.

Damien's standing in the doorway to their kitchen/dining room area, a bowl of Cocoa Pebbles in his hand and a piece of toast lodged between his teeth. His eyes wide, one foot hovering in the air where it froze, he looks almost funny, except for the big hickeys on his neck and the fact that he's only wearing boxers. So didn't need to see that.

"Mmm!" he exclaims, forgetting about the toast in his mouth. It drops into the cereal, and he dumps that on the table, hurrying toward his ex. "Oh, Sam, I'm so sorr-"

I withdraw my fist as he staggers back, clutching his cheek. I always wanted to do that, and now I can without incurring the wrath of Sam!

"What the fuck!" he spits, glaring at me. "You come into my place and punch me? I could have you arrested for that!"

"And I can have you arrested for being a douche," I retort. It's probably not the best-thought-out reply, but I'm still a bit sleepy, so that's what I'm sticking with. There _should_ be a law against douchebaggery. I can imagin it now, some cop busting some punk and saying, 'You're being arrested for five counts of douchebaggery and seven counts of assholishness.' Priceless.

"I'm here to pick up my things," Sam says, her face expressionless. She pulls the key to the apartment off of her keychain and tosses it to Damien, who catches it reflexively.

She heads down the short hallway to the bedroom, and Damien says, "Wait, hold on-"

The rest of his comment is drowned out by a screech and a sudden scrambling on the wooden floor in there. Damien and I look at each other stupidly for a second, then we hurry in after Sam, Lu following close behind.

The sight that greets us is both frightening and strangely erotic. That girl from yesterday, Beth, must have taken my advice and followed Damien, and apparently, that was what the douche was trying to warn Sam about. She's probably regretting her choice of bed-buddies right about now.

The bedsheets that had been on the mattress are strewn across the floor, and in the middle of them, Sam's grappling with a decidedly naked Beth, their handsried in each others hair as they try with all their might to pull the other's hair out, and while Beth is ontop of Sam, my buddy's got her knee buried somewhere that it should only be in an adult film, or while I've got a video camera ready.

I stand there, mouth agape as I watch this. My attention is centered on the two battling girls, but I'm sure Damien's got a pretty similar expression on his face that I do. As we watch, Sam pulls back a hank of Beth's hair, twisting her head viciously before giving her a purple nurple for the ages that makes the crazy girl actually moan! Huh, I guess she's a masochist.

Finally, I get my scattered thoughts together, turn to Damien, whose face is just as I predicted, and say, "Um, I'm probably gonna hate myself for this, but I think we should break this up before they hurt themselves too bad."

Damien shakes his head to rid his mind of cobwebs, then nods. "Yeah, you're probably right." So the two of us, with some help from Lu, manage to separate Sam and Beth. Sam's got a shiner developing nicely under her left eye, and several scratches going down her right arm, but Beth by far got the worst end of the deal.

I don't get a chance to appreciate (read: oggle at) the naked chick Damien's holding back because Sam's trying with all her might to get at Beth. I'm forced to put her in a Torchic wing hold and steer her out into the hallway where Lu takes over.

Damien is still wrestling with Beth, so I throw a sheet over both of them, grab a nearby duffel bag and start sorting through the dressers and closet, dropping Sam's Pokéballs, clothes, jewelry, and other personal belongings into the bag.

It takes about twenty minutes, but when I'm done, Damien's subdued Beth, and is tending to the many bruises on her body. I beat a hasty retreat outta there when she sees me and opens her mouth, probably to yell at me. Next is the bathroom, and I pile in all of Sam's brushes and make-up and stuff before making my way into the kitchen.

In the cupboards, I find some glasses and bowls that might look nice in my apartment, so I pack them in carefully before raiding the fridge and finding some choice prime rib. Oh, I'm gonna eat good tonight!

When I finally finish, I head back to the car, where Sam and Lu are leaning against the Camaro. I set the bag down on the trunk.

"I got your stuff," I say simply. Sam's looking mighty riled right now, and I don't wanna give her any reason to turn that fury on me anytime soon.

"Where are my Pokémon?" she asks through clenched teeth.

"In the-" I start, but she unzips the duffel, finds the one she's looking for, and dashes off. Uh-oh. Lu and I chase after her, hoping to stop her in time, but no dice.

I burst through the door just in time to see Legs, Sam's Hitmonlee, thrust his spring-loaded foot into Damien's crotch. His eyes bulge from their sockets, and his mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Or at least none that I can hear.

Lu clamps his paws over his ears. _Man, Legs kicked him so hard he's screaming in the upper registers!_

My hands find my own genitals, which have shrunken in a sort of sympathetic gesture for Damien's junk. No man should ever have that done to him, nor should they ever have to _see_ it happen to some other guy.

Sam nods and recalls Legs, then spins on her heel and marches out the door, leaving behind a broken man on the floor, his hands between his legs. Numbly, I follow, and Lu hands Damien a Sitrus Berry before trailing after me. I almost laugh. Almost.

When we get back to the car, Sam's in the passenger seat, and Lu makes no attempt at dislodging her. I wouldn't either; it's a smart move.

I start the car and take off down the street, not daring to test fate and glance at Sam. If I catch her eye, my head could explode, or I might turn to stone or something. Well, let's hope she cools off before we get back to the apartment, or Chuck might be in for a rude awakening.

**A/N: So it's shorter than normal, I know, but that's what the title of the chapter suggested, so that's that. Damien got kicked in the nuts by a Hitmonlee, poor dude, and Sam's pretty mad right now, so I thought that was enough excitement for one chapter. I wonder if Beth'll nurse him back to health...**


	5. Of All the Gin Joints in the World

**A/N: ****So sorry for the ridiculously long wait everyone still reading. When life catches up, you gotta pay your dues and deal with it like a real G. But now I've beaten that bitch called general existence back and I can get on with the finer things in life (i.e. writing fanfiction and having a nice long toke 'n drank. Anyway,** now that I'm past the four-chapter-hump, I feel like I can achieve anything! I even thought that me and my friends could handle a two-liter, ten-dollar bottle of cheap vodka (they could; I couldn't). While I was holed up in my closet the next morning, fearing the sunlight and any slight sound, I contemplated where I wanted this fic to go. I thought, maybe there should be some sort of road-trip where the band grabs some exposure before getting into a big rock magazine, like in that movie, _**Almost Famous**_**. Then I thought, maybe there should be a big Pokémon tournament or something in which they could compete. **_**Then**_**, I thought, wait, why not have **_**both**_**? Oh, yeah, that's why they pay me the big bucks. Or, they would, if I worked for Nintendo. Sigh. Damn.**

**Also, thanks once again to HappyHereford, who remains my **_**only**_** reviewer so far. C'mon, folks, it's not really that hard to click on that review button and leave a few words of constructive criticism. Trust me. I've seen some of the worst writing in the history of literature and they still get at least ten reviews per chapter. I've got four (now five) chapters up, and I've got two reviews from the same person. To those who read my words and leave nothing in return, know this: I will find you, and I **_**will**_** kill you if you don't review. Mark my words: When you least expect it...your upance will come. Okay, rant's over; I'll climb off my soapbox now.**

**Disclaimer: If only I owned shit, then I'd be ruler of the world! BWAHAHAHA!**

Fifth Session-Of All the Gin Joints in the World...

So, for a few weeks, I've fallen into a sort of funk. After that whole fiasco at the show, the band hasn't met up. Chris swung by the pad a few times, but that was just social calls (getting high). I've seen neither hide nor hair of Damien and Beth since Legs nailed the family jewels. Chuck's still mad at me for not waking him up in time to see Pawn Stars, and Sam's in her own little fuming world.

I'd thought she'd gotten over all of her grief, and I suppose she did. But anger isn't much better. In fact (and my bruises will attest to this), she's gotten pretty violent as of late. And she still hasn't found an apartment, so my only escape is when I go to work at the local coffee shop called Stantler Java and Tea.

I've been working on writing songs, but all I can come up with are dumb ones about alcohol and pot, and even though that's what's popular right now, it's not real music. It makes my soul ache with longing to create something like Lennon or Dylan, or even Yankovich (he's funny).

I haven't gotten into any battles, either, which has made my Pokés restless. Most of 'em are sort of okay with just hanging out, but some, like Lu, absolutely _need _to battle.

Anyway, I'm serving up a large coffee with whipped cream, or as we in the biz say, a 'venti mocha latté, skimmed milk, low froth, and whipped crème' to a dude in a suit who looks like he's on his lunch break, when I receive a slight shock.

"Hello, how can I help you?" I say guardedly.

"Remy, we need to talk," Damien says, a serious look on his face.

For a second, I'm tempted to mouth off, but I figure he's suffered enough for his transgression. "Let me just tell my supervisor."

A couple minutes later, I'm sitting in a booth across from Damien and, surprisingly, Beth. It seems that Damien and Beth had really hit it off at the party, which (combined with alcohol) was the main reason for all that nastiness a couple weeks ago.

"So, what's so important that I had to waste my smoke break on?" I ask Damien, sipping on a triple-shot espresso, black.

"Look," Damien starts, "I know that I fucked up. Sam and I just..." he waves his hands around vaguely, as if searching for the right words. "We weren't right for each other," he finally manages. "If I'd have stayed, we just would've slowly ground each other to dust, leaving nothing but the ashes of a campfire."

"Wow, that's deep, Shakespeare," I say, rolling my eyes. "But what does this have to do with me?"

"Well, like I was saying, I fucked up. I know for a fact that the band hasn't had a session since the last gig, and I take full responsibility for that. But we're _good_. I mean, I know that we can make something of ourselves, do you get me? I don't want to be the one thing that stopped us from getting to the big-time."

I think on this for a sec. He does make a point, I guess. The crowd at the last show seemed to dig our sound, at least. "Go on."

In answer, Damien pulls out a piece of folded paper from his jacket pocket and tosses it across the table. I pick it up, unfurl it and read.

**Battle Of the Bands!**

**Do you think you've got what it takes? Do you think that your band is the best in the country? Well, then see if you're right and come on down to the Battle of the Bands '12! The only prerequisites are that you must have played in at least eight well-known venues across the continental United States, and pay the competition fee of $200 (usd) before the starting date of the Battle, on September 23 of next year.**

**This year, the Battle is being held in Honolulu, Hawaii, at the _Theatre. Be there, or be square!**

When I'm done, I look up at him, a skeptical eyebrow raised. "You think we're BoB material?"

"Definitely!" Beth states emphatically. "Look, I wanna get past all that bad blood, let bygones be bygones. That's why I approached you in the first place, to tell you how awesome you guys were. The sound is unique and catchy, and..." she glances quickly at Damien before blushing and pressing on, "you're voice is kinda sexy."

"Well," I don't know what to say to that. "Thanks, I guess. It's being held in Hawaii, though, and we need to play at least eight major venues. How the hell do you propose we pull that off in," I re-check the deadline, "roughly eleven months?"

"The way I see it," Damien says, "if a human baby can be born in nine months, then we can pull a hat-trick out of our asses in eleven. Just leave the logistics to me, and tell the others to meet at the usual place for practice tomorrow. And please, _please_ don't bring Sam."

That I have to grin at. "I don't know, dude. You know Sam, and if she somehow finds out that Flash Moon's getting back together, she'll be there." At his pleading look, I finally say, "Okay, look. I'm not promising anything, but I'll try, _try _being the operative word, to keep her away."

"Thanks, man," Damien sighs, relief evident in his voice. "I hear she's staying with you and Chuck." He pauses, as if wondering if he should finish his thought, then, "Good luck with that."

Another eye-roll seems appropriate, as well as a dry chuckle. "You know as well as I do that I'm gonna need more than luck to deal with Sam."

'The usual place,' as Damien so eloquently put it, is Chris' parents' garage. It's roomy, spacious, and, best of all, almost completely empty.

Chuck and I are the last to arrive, partly because of the damned traffic in Downtown, and partly because of the distance between my apartment and Chris' place.

"What's crackin' fellas?" I say, dropping my case onto the garage's carpet, next to Damien's. "All set?"

Damien motions for us to come over to where they're standing over a small table. On the table is a map of the U.S. where several colored pins are stuck in various points on the map, all connected by a thick red line drawn in marker, tracing various routes across the country.

"These are the places we're gonna play," Damien explains, "and the red line is how we're getting there. My uncle's letting me borrow his VW bus, so we only have to take one car."

I'm only half-listening to what he's saying; I'm more interested in the names of the cities on our own personal road to success. "I don't know if you know this or not, but these cities are all Gym cities. Like, every single one of them."

Most people are content with just living their lives doing normal crap, like accounting and junk. But some folks make it their life's ambition to become a Pokémon Master, a title which explains itself. To become a Master, one has to first collect eight badges from various Gyms around the country they're traveling in. This allows them to compete in the country's Pokémon League, where the best of the best battle it out to see who's the greatest. And after all that, the winner of the Pokémon League gets to face that country's Elite Four, another self-explanatory title. And if whatever powers that be allow you to beat the Elite Four, then there's the Champion, the absolute greatest Pokémon Trainer in that country. If the challenger defeats the champ, then they become champ, and the cycle starts all over again. Neat, huh?

When I was a kid, I always dreamed of being Champion. See, way back when, during the age of the dino-Pokémon, my grandad was the United States Champion. He's the only champion to go entirely undefeated during his reign, and he retired when I was born in order to raise me. I wanted to be just like him when I grew up, but there's a little thing called Murphy's Law that sorta got in my way. Plans on becoming the U.S. champ kept getting side-tracked until they fell off a cliff. Oh, well. That's life, as a great man once said.

Damien grins sheepishly. "Well, about that..." When anyone ever says anything like this, start building up your defenses, because whatever they're gonna say will be big.

Chris steps in and says, "Look, it's gonna take a lot of cash just for the gas money to travel two-thousand plus miles. That, we've got covered. But then there's expenses like food, lodgings, and all the crap that comes with a touring band, like broken guitar strings and drumsticks, and, God forbid, guitars and drums themselves."

"I don't follow," I say.

"The Gyms have mad prize money, stupid," Chuck pipes up, and I feel ashamed that even _Chuck_ beat me to the conclusion of the problem. "You're, like, the shit at Pokémon Training, and your Pokémon are even more of the shit. At every city we get to, you and your Pokés just work a little magic, and we got funds for the trip. Man, you're stupid."

After punching Chuck in the sternum, I think about it. Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Eagle Rock, Rochester, Crawford Ranch, New Orleans, Nashville, New York City. It's all plotted out on the map; the road to fame and fortune. Being a champion _and _a rock star? Most people don't even dream of having that. But maybe, just_ maybe_...

"Fuck it, then," I say with conviction. "I always wanted to take the League challenge anyhow. So, when do we leave?"

"First," says Damien, "we've got to step up our game. Practice makes perfect, and we're far from perfect."

"I'll say," comes a voice from the garage door that makes all four of us cringe in fear.

Let me reiterate. Chris is a freakin' monster lumberjack who can beat a Machamp at arm wrestling. Chuck is dumb as rocks, but tough as steel. Damien is a big dude in his own rights, and built, too. I train with a crazy Lucario. We are all deathly afraid of that voice.

Slowly, we turn around and find Sam leaning against the garage, arms crossed and a raised eyebrow. She doesn't look _too_ mad, so I'll take that as a good sign.

"Uh, hey there, Sam," I say, injecting as much cheer as I can into my voice. "What's up?"

"Not your IQ, that's for sure," Sam deadpans. "Look. I can understand why you didn't want me here. I'm over it already." She turns to Damien. "You're an asshole, but that's just something you're born with. I won't hold it against you. And you," she rounds on me. "suck at guitar for the same reasons. Stick with the piano, Rem."

"So did you just come here to insult us, or what?"

"Actually," she grins, lifting herself off the side of the garage, revealing her own guitar case that was hiding behind her. "I come to offer my services as a guitarist."

The four of us look at each other, and some crazy collective brainwave surges through our neurons as we turn back to her and say, "Okay."

"I thought so," Sam says, her smile widening as she steps inside. "But before we start practicing, there's one thing we need to do."

"Which is...?" Chuck starts, but his sister cuts him off easily.

"Name our new band."

"New?"

"Yes, Chris, new. Flash Moon consisted of you four. This new band now includes yours truly. So, what do you guys think would be a good name for Flash Moon plus Sam?"

"Something to do with explosions," Chuck says. "'Cause you're so damn loud and you make a big freakin' mess of everything." Sam gets mad, but it's a pretty accurate description of her.

"How about, like, a cannon or something?" Chris suggests, and it instantly clicks in my brain like those sliding puzzles.

"Flash Cannon," I mutter. "Takes what we already had and adds our new powder-keg guitarist. Plus, we all have at least one Poké who can use Flash Cannon. Makes sense."

After we all agree on it, the newly dubbed Flash Cannon begins practice, and I hate to admit it, but Sam was right: I _do _suck at guitar.

**A/N: And there you have it, folks! The reasoning behind the title of this fanfiction. And you thought I was just too stupid to realize that I'd accidentally named the band Flash Moon while the title of the story was Flash Cannon. Ohh, I chuckle merrily at all ye of so little faith. Anyway, so now we're getting to the main plot of the story. There'll be random little mini-arcs scattered around, but the League Challenge and the Battle of the Bands will be the main focus of the fic. Ummmm, I guess that's it. Oh, but whoever caught that little Caribou Coffee reference, cyber-high five! (clicks on **_**Enter Sandman)**_** Well, that's all we have time for today, so bye! (shuffles out of the room like a G)**


	6. Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying

**A/N: Welcome back, one and all! This chappie's gonna skim over most of the preparations for Flash Cannon's Awesome Adventure, and stuff. I introduce Remy's full roster of Pokemon, and go a little more in-depth with the relationship that Remy and the Harding family share, as well. So, with that in mind, hi-ho fanfic...AWAY!**

**Disclaimer: Owning shit must be fun. (sigh) Sadly, I wouldn't know, 'cause I...DON'T OWN SHIT!**

Sixth Session-The Takeover, the Break's Over

_Hey, watch it!_ Lu growls. My open-handed jab to his mid-section forces him to back up a few paces, which makes me grin.

"Well, it's not my fault you got all fat and flabby!" I reply, my smile widening as I parry a few more palm thrusts away from my chest and try knocking his knee out from under him with a leg kick, which he blocks with the arch of his foot.

Lu sends another flurry of punches my way, and I side-step the majority of them, deflecting his last punch and aiming a knee to his gut. He's quick to react, raising his leg and taking the knee-thrust with his shin.

"Gettin' better, buddy," I grunt, trying to sweep his legs out from under him. He hops over my spinning kick and catches my shoulder with a chop kick, following it quickly with a straight palm thrust that knocks me backward onto my ass.

I roll with it and regain my feet quickly, pushing off with the balls of my feet to launch myself at him, fist raised like I'm gonna punch him in the chops. When he raises his arms to block it, I switch gears and give him a nice good push-kick to the stomach that sends him crashing to the floor.

I try to fall on him with a good knuckle sandwich to the head, but he's already ready for me, catching my fist and moving like lightning to pull me down to the ground with him, twisting around to get me in a chicken-wing armbar and applies pressure.

After a few valiant tries to get out of it, or at least give myself some room to breathe, I finally relent and tap on his shoulder. He releases my arm and hops to his feet with a triumphant howl to the setting sun.

_I feel good,_ Lu says, helping me up. _Like, way better than I've ever felt before. I feel like I can take on Arceus himself and come out on top._

"Alright, we're back on form. Now we need to get even better." For three weeks straight, Flash Cannon has done nothing but practice our songs and train our Pokemon. It's gotten so that when I go to sleep, I dream about my Pokemon playing for a ten-thousand-strong crowd in the Battle of the Bands while I fight against the Elite Four with my bare hands. I immediately swore off drinking right before bed when I woke up from that dream, then pounded some absinthe and fell asleep again.

But that's beside the point. In another few days, we'll be ready for the road. I've already stocked up on canned beef and vegetable soup and Cup Noodles (picante-style shrimp, if anyone cared).

I also bought a cool little solar-powered microwave, which no pothead should ever be without. I mean, I don't mean to brag or nothing, but I'm somewhat of a culinary artist when it comes to a microwave. One time, when I was living with Chuck and Sam's family, their older sister fucked up the entire meal on Thanksgiving and I managed to bust a mad Wolfgang Puck and provide a full spread(green-bean casserole, mashed 'taters and gravy, corn, cream peas, stuffing, cornbread, crescent rolls, pumpkin pie, _and _a turkey), all compliments of the microwave oven.

Anyway, we've got our supplies, our instruments, our talent, and our Pokemon. All that we need is the will to pull this off. You know the saying: "No guts, no glory." That's the motto that my grandad and the other champs instilled within my soul, and it's a mantra that I'll uphold proudly to my dying day.

The laws concerning Pokemon are pretty straightforward: there is no limit to how many you can have, but if used in a way that is unlawful, they'll get confiscated and you go to jail. Some cities have laws that forbid having Pokemon out of their Pokeballs except during monitored battle, but most places are pretty lax when it comes to that. There are actually some places, like in California, that allow Pokemon to roam free and wild. Californians are pretty chill as a whole, after all. I myself have a grand total of twenty Pokemon, and I've cultivated a deep companionship with each and every one of 'em.

I met Diablo the Marowak and Rover the Arcanine when I was four, and they were a runty little Cubone and an over-excited Growlithe. They were rummaging around in our trash cans, making a big mess of things, so me and Lu, whom I'd had for two years by then, taught them a lesson in cleanliness. They were so impressed by our strength that they decided they wanted to stay with us, and my grandfather approved.

Hermes was next. A few weeks after capturing Diablo and Rover, I was hanging out in a park with Sam and her family when a particularly adventurous Pidgey swooped in and took the delicious picnic that Sam's mom had made for us. I like food, and I like Sam's mom. So when you combine those two things, there's nothing I won't do to eat Sam's mom's cooking. Me and Diablo took care of the Pidgey, and afterwards, he followed me home.

I didn't catch any other Pokemon for about a year, until my Grandad took me on a trans-continental trip with some of the other former-champions (they were putting together some sort of exhibition tour, and it turned into a sort of camping trip. During that little trip, Gramps and the others taught me everything they knew about Pokemon and their Training, but the most important thing they told me, something I'll never forget, is that Pokemon were living, breathing beings, and that they were my friends, not tools.

The first Pokemon I caught on that trip was Thor. Back then, he was just a little Shinx hanging around the power plant at the Hoover Dam, causing all sorts of havoc for the workers there. Me and Rover took that little problem off their hands and gained a new companion in the process.

During our brief stint in Hawaii, one of the younger former-champs was trying to teach me to surf at the North Shore beach on the big island, where I met a hyperactive little Treecko, who I caught and named Holly. That little hyperactive Treecko became an ludicrously fast Sceptile.

While we were camping out in the Zion National Park, we came across a Poochyenna and a Chatot who were a pretty sly team of robbers; the Chatot would distract their targets while the Poochyenna went behind their backs and robbed them of their foodstuffs. Luckily, Grandad wasn't as dumb as their other targets, and he and I soundly defeated the pair of thieves. I caught them and named the Chatot Micca, and the Poochyenna Grimm. Micca's still a little troublemaking Chatot, but Grimm evolved into a magnificent specimen of the Mightyenna race.

During our week-long stay in the expansive Yosemite National Park, I encountered a rogue Scyther who'd been expelled from his swarm and had a big X-shaped wound across his chest from a recent battle. The former champions imparted upon me some medical know-how, and we had the newly dubbed Ronin back in full health, and helped him settle scores with his ex-swarm

The next Yosemite capture was a Combee that had gotten lost and couldn't find her way back to the honeycomb she lived in. I helped her find her home, but when I started back, Combee started to follow me, and the rest is history. In fact, Vespa just recently evolved into a Vespiquen with emerald gems in place of the traditional red ones.

Last, but certainly not least in the list of Yosemite natives is Morgana the Mismagius. Our little entourage was actually heading out of the Park when a Misdreavus suddenly appeared in front of our tour bus. She was quick enough to phase through the windshield, but ended up in the bus with us. Me and Morgana decided to just let the Fates have their way and we stayed together.

After that, we went up to Oregon, where I found a little Ralts wandering around near Crater Lake. What made this Ralts different from the others was that where normal Ralts are green, this one was blue. We hit it off, and I ended up capturing him and naming him Leonidas. He lived up to his name and became a fierce Gallade, taking his strange pigmentation through both evolutions.

We traveled up the coast, through Canada, and into Alaska. It was there that I found a Seel with black streaks in its otherwise snow-white fur trapped between two ice floes. After freeing it, I tried to clean off the black, which I'd thought was oil or dirt or something, but that was just its natural coloring. The Seel thanked me by letting me catch him and bring him along on our journey. Fang is now a proud Dewgong.

Traveling back south, we cut down through Canada and took a little adventure break in the Cave of Four Winds, in Colorado. We got, like, two steps in when a Geodude dropped from the ceiling and tried to attack me. After a short battle, I caught Geodude and called him Barricade. Now, he's a Golem who's a genius with any defensive move imaginable. A bit further in, we met an Aron who took a liking to the Geodude I caught. Eventually, I took her in and named her Tank. She certainly is a tank now, being an incredibly powerful Aggron. She and Barricade make a formidable team; the unstoppable force and the immovable object.

It was in the Cave of Four Winds that I got my first taste of pure terror. I wasn't looking where I was going and fell into a deep pit and was swallowed by the darkness before anyone could react. Luckily, there was an even deeper cave pool at the bottom of the pit, and even luckier, I stumbled upon an extremely rare Dratini. With the help of Hermes, who had by then evolved into a Pidgeotto, and Ronin, I reached the top of the pit again with a Dratini in tow. I named him Puff, after that one song, and now he's Puff the magic Dragonite. He's not really magic, but he _is_ cooler than most Dragonite for the simple fact that instead of a tan to orange colored hide, Puff's outer scales are golden, and his belly scales are silver.

After the Four Winds, we visited another cave, this time in New Mexico, called Carlsbad Caverns, which was home to thousands and thousands of Zubat, Gligar, and their evolutions. It was in there that I met and saved a small, but tough Tyrogue who was being harassed by an angry Crobat. Now, she's Dizzy the Hitmontop.

Then, in a small town called Peabody, Kansas, I came across a Zangoose and a Seviper going head-to-head and claw-to-tail-blade. It got so bad that they actually might have killed each other but for the fact that Barricade, a newly-evolved Graveler, erected a bubble of Protect between them and they knocked themselves silly against the barrier. After catching them and naming them Scrappy and Cocoa respectively, I got them fixed up. I still haven't released them from their Pokeballs at the same time for fear of what they'd do to the world at large.

We traveled to and fro across America, visiting every single state in the continental U.S. before ending our little trip in Miami. By then, I was six years old and had two years of Training experience underneath my belt.

I was hanging out on the legendary Miami Beach, catching some rays, when all of a sudden, I hear screaming, and people start rushing out of the surf like the water suddenly turned to acid. Then I see it: the biggest dorsal fin I've ever seen, followed closely by a breaching Gyrados of monstrous proportions, which promptly goes about destroying the sea-side stores and restaurants of Miami Beach. Using my awesome skills as a Trainer, and allowing my Pokemon to utilize their even awesomer skills as...well...Pokemon, we were able to bring the gargantuan sea serpent down, and after catching him, named him Rampage based on all the destruction he wrought.

And, of course, there's Lu. I didn't meet Lu, and he didn't meet me. We were meant to be best buddies. Way back in the day, my ancestor, one George Washington, crossed the Delaware River with a small task force bent on storming and capturing a British fort on the other side. What historians fail to remember is that his victory there was largely due to a wild Lucario, who saved George's life and became his Pokemon partner.

Ever since then, the patriarch of our family has had a Lucario, whose firstborn Riolu was passed down to the firstborn child of the human, thus ensuring that our two families would always stay together, as companions. This means that I'm directly descended from one of the founding fathers of America, and Lu is directly descended from the Pokemon who saved his life countless times and helped him win the independence of a nation. We're practically royalty. The only flub in the long line of Lucario and Trainer is that Lu is actually Grandad's Lucario's son, for reasons my Grandad never fully explained to me, other than my dad was a douche. Which he still is to this day.

Anyway, all of my Pokemon buddies are primed and ready for the challenge of taking on the strongest Trainers in the U.S. My Pokemon are all chomping at the bit to start the Pokemon League challenge since we started training. I've had them all since I was six, and I've been training them all for nearly fourteen years, and my first four have had close to eighteen years of practice and friendship under their belts.

On the musical aspect of our little journey, all of us have improved. After a brief, yet fierce ax battle, it was decided that Sam would be the lead guitarist for the band. Now I know why Sam didn't join the band before: if she had, she'd have royally embarrassed Damien, whose guitar skills are pretty good, but pale in comparison to my buddy's. She still royally embarrassed Damien, but now she has little to no qualms about it.

We were finally able to help Chuck perfect his dumb little spinny maneuver without pulling the plug of his bass out, and Chris was able to, if possible, get even better at the drums. We added a second kick-drum to his ensemble, as well as a few little doo-dads, like a cowbell, one of those bell trees that you always hear in Christmas songs, some chimes, and even a suspended cymbal, which I personally like the reverberating sound of.

I was also able to integrate some piano parts into our existing songs, and my artistic block was removed. We have created, fine-tuned, and perfected roughly thirty-five songs so far, and since we all love the _Nightmare Before Christmas _so damn much, we decided to redo some of the songs.

I remember when I used to watch that movie all the time at Chuck and Sam's house. I actually used to live with them from age eight to eighteen. Funny story how that happened. It all began twelve years ago...

(FLASHBACK ALERT)

-(3rd Person POV)-

It was the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month in the two-thousandth year since the birth of Jesus of Nazareth. A crowd of people and Pokemon were gathered in the very center of the Rose Hills cemetery, on the crest of a small, isolated hillock. Everyone was dressed in black in honor of their fallen hero, and many, if not all of the mourners were in some stage of sadness and grief. Even the sky itself was weeping for the greatest Pokemon Champion the world had ever seen; Jonathan Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt.

The pastor who was leading the ceremony had been an army chaplain during the Second World War, and had worked alongside Jonathan when he'd been a Marine in the same war. He owned and operated one of the largest and most successful churches in the entire world, and when he'd heard of his friend's passing, he'd flown all the way from a missionary assignment in Singapore to attend John's funeral.

Also in attendance were several former Presidents (and the current one) celebrities, sports stars, and famous musicians. It was as though someone had made a list of the most important people in the United States and gathered them in one place. In fact, all of these people, including the ones who weren't as recognizable as Michael Jordan, or Bill Clinton, had their life touched and, in the process, changed for the better, by Jonathan Schmidt.

But none of these people mattered to the small, eight-year-old boy standing closest to the oaken casket. His violet eyes were downcast and seemingly lifeless as he gazed at the ground, and his dark hair, matted down from the rain soaking them, had streaks of gray forming around his temples.

Standing next to him, and shooting worried glances every now and then, was a girl of the same age, and approximate height, with auburn hair and icy blue eyes. She wrung her hands together, and then glanced up at the umbrella her father was holding over her and wishing that her best friend would scoot under it as well.

As the thunder and lightning began to boom and flash, the well-known pastor ended the funeral ceremony and nodded to a Lucario with the blue and black fur pattern reversed, who was standing sentinel-like next to a small Riolu. The Lucario began lowering the box containing his oldest friend and dearest companion into the earth, and when it was done, the Aura Pokemon glanced sadly at the young boy before nodding at him.

The boy seemed to awaken from his grief for a moment before moving to a pile of mud, where a shovel was buried. The other mourners all gazed sympathetically at the small form wrapped in its fine black suit as he picked up the shovel filled with mud and dumped it into the rectangular hole they'd tossed his grandfather's body into.

Then, he threw the shovel back onto the mud pile, shoved his hands into his pockets, and slumped away into the rain, with a muttered, "See ya, Space Cowboy." It had been an old ritual between him and his now-dead guardian whenever they would leave each other's company, and now, he was saying goodbye to what he considered his father forever.

As others began giving the dead man their final parting words, the small Riolu hurried after his Trainer, followed closely by the auburn-haired girl who ignored her father's shout to return.

The Riolu caught up quickly, and leapt up onto the boy's shoulder, murmuring softly into his master and friend's mind, trying to ease the boy's pain.

"Remy!" shouted the girl, still a few yards behind. The boy stopped and turned, but his eyes were still clouded with grief. "Hold on!"

When she finally reached Remy, the girl stopped to catch her breath. "Where are you going?" she asked, her voice trembling with barely-suppressed emotion.

Remy turned away and stared up at the sky, and the fat drops of water falling from it. He could imagine the world crying for his grandfather, weeping for the loss of the greatest man who ever lived, and the girl though she heard a faint sniffle.

"I don't know, Sam," Remy whispered softly. "I just don't know."

"Come with us, then," Sam urged, stepping forward and taking his hand. "You can live with me and Chuck and Sock and Mom and Dad! It'll be like a never-ending sleepover!"

"I don't think I'll be able to," replied the boy, a surprisingly bitter expression crossing his youthful features. "I still have a _father_," he spat the word like it was a spoilt pecha berry, "who can take care of me. If he shows up."

"He's not coming," Sam said forcefully, yanking on his arm. "You know it, I know it, and most important, my dad knows it. Ever since Grampa Schmidt-" she faltered for but a moment before continuing on, "-ever since he passed, Dad's been doing nothing but paperwork to get permission for you to live with us."

For a moment, surprise flitted through Remy's eyes before settling on one of desperate hope. "Really?"

"Really-really," Sam stated firmly, giving him a hug before yanking on her friend's arm and leading him back to a small cluster of people still standing near the burial site. "Now come on, before I have to beat you up again."

That comment brought out a bit of his young self. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "That was a fluke and you know it."

"Okay, then," Sam replied in a tone that told him exactly what she thought of the 'fluke.' "Whatever you say."

Sam's father, Dominic Harding, was a tall, hot-blooded Irishman, as announced by his close-cropped fiery red hair and intense emerald eyes. He watched as his daughter led the boy he thought of as another son back to them with sad eyes. Nobody should have ever had to go through what that boy just did at such a young age.

Next to him was his wife, Yuuki Harding, a Japan native with long, flowing honey-colored locks and icy blue eyes so similar to her two youngest children. She, too, felt so bad for the young boy who'd wormed his way into her heart with his usually boisterous demeanor and crooked grins, and the rain mixed with salty tears that flowed not only for the wonderful old man who had been their neighbor since the Hardings had moved into their home, but for the lost little man he'd left behind.

Chuck, the baby of the family, was pulling at the annoying piece of silk his mother had insisted he wear she called a tie. He didn't know why everyone was so sad, or why his older brother in all but blood had been so down lately, but he didn't like it one bit. He also didn't like the fact that his next-door grampa hadn't been around in a while. He'd tried everything he could to cheer up Remy: he'd farted on his sisters, he'd farted on his mom, heck, he'd even farted on his dad, although that had the negative side-effect of giving him a sore bottom for a few hours after the fact. All he knew was that he didn't want Remy to be sad anymore.

Sakura Sado, who was a carbon copy of her mother, felt miserable. She'd taken an extreme liking to the old man who lived next to them. He would always give her candy when she was little, and when she was four years old, she'd not only gotten a little sister, but a little brother as well, though not in the literal sense. The little boy that had been born in the same hospital room as her sister, within the same few minutes, surprisingly came to live with her elderly neighbor, and she'd taken to that kid like she had with his grandfather. And now, her gruff, yet loveable, pretend grandpa was gone forever, and her adopted little brother had been like a lost little Poochyenna looking for its master without him.

Well, that was about to change. The Harding household would make Remy feel like he was one of them, and in time, his buoyant nature would slowly lift him out of the haze of sadness, with the help of his surrogate family

Over the course of the next ten years, he would become Remus Esteban Miguel Yucatan, an optimistic and courageous young man who inspired loyalty in all whom he met, and an able Trainer with powerful Pokemon who would follow him through the very gates of hell itself if he asked.

**A/N: As penitence for not updating in awhile, I've decided to pop out another chapter. So, thank Fate, or whoever sent the shit storm I've been subjected to for the past few weeks for this prize. But really don't, because that might just grab that bastard's attention and make it focus on you, which I wouldn't recommend to my most hated enemy. So, now you know all the Pokemon that Remy has, Sam's natural hair color, and most of Remy's little back-story, though there will be a few blasts from the past, and a couple of M. Knight-esque plot bunnies (what a twist!), but that's that. Before I go any further, I would like to inform you that I've added three extra Pokemon Types that seem to make sense to me, and not to Nintendo for some reason. The first is Light, which makes the most sense, seeing as how they already have a Dark type. I mean, c'mon Shelly. The next two are Sound and Gem. There are already a few existing Pokemon who could fit the new types (Cresselia-Light, Exploud-Sound, Vespiquen-Gem; am I right, or what?) Plus, there'll be some Pokemon of my own creation. I'm not creative enough to be able to just pop a brand-new Pokemon out of my brain-vageen, but I can add to the existing Pokemon. I've already sort of made a whole big thing where every single Pokemon (excluding Ditto and the Legendaries, of course) have three stages of evolution, and some have alternate final stages of evolution, like how Poliwhirl can evolve into either Poliwrath or Politoed. So, look forward to that later on. I'm thinking that this story might have around twenty to thirty chapters in all, so hunker down, 'cause it's gonna be a long haul. Laters!**

**P.S. Oh, and for those who caught the Cowboy Bebop ref, double-cyber-high-five!**


	7. The Takeover, the Break's Over

**A/N: Howdy, y'all! Welcome back to Flash Cannon! This chapter might be a bit longer, because this is the chapter where Remy and his Pokés go head-to-head with the Los Angeles City Gym Leader, a pretty young thing named Dulce Trejo. No, she's not Danny Trejo's daughter, so all of you who're expecting Machete to bust into the Gym and attack Remy with a big meat cleaver the size of a freakin' sword can just banish those thoughts right now. Although that would be kinda cool...Anyhow, I'm sorry for the sorta long wait, I lost my muse. Don't worry, though. I found her in a bar in Hollywood, smacked some sense into her and brought her back to my brain where she lives.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own shit. It's really as simple as that.**

Seventh Session-The Takeover, the Break's Over

_You can do this, you can do this, you can do this, you can do this,_ I repeat over and over in my head. I shouldn't have gotten high right before challenging the freakin' L.A. Gym! Damn it. Don't judge; I use marijuana medicinally to calm my nerves and for a pain in my leg from a long-past injury (from my brief rollerblading phase when I thought I could grind a ten-stair kink rail. I couldn't, and it ended up on that MTV show _Scars_. All I can say is that it was an epic fail, and also that it was a good thing Bella was there, or I'd probably be paralyzed from the waist down or something).

Anyway, I'm sitting in the second-row seat in the minibus, while Damien drives to the Los Angeles Convention Center which, on most days, is the Los Angeles Pokémon Gym, except when there are major sporting events booked.

I actually know the Gym Leader there, both the former and the current. The former was one of my Grandad's old friends from when he was a young Trainer, an old Sonoran man with a penchant for Ground- and Dragon-type Pokés. The current is his granddaughter, who has the very same fascination with the earthly and mystical pocket monsters.

We had to wait for, like, another week because I tried to go there and just walk in and challenge her. I got thrown out on my ass before being told that I need to make an appointment online, and I thought to myself, _Well, ain't that about a bitch?_

_Stop reminiscing and focus on your battle strategy!_ Lu scolds me. He's actually on top of the minibus; I can see him from the sun-roof, posted kneeling with one paw on the roof of the bus and the other held up in front of his face like a ninja, aura receptors up and glowing.

_Stop showing off, you moron,_ I retort. _You swear like anybody cares_. He opens one eye and gives me a mono-ocular glare, which I didn't even think was possible. _Touché_, _mon ami_.

He grins and swings down through the open window and into the seat beside me easily. _So, who's asses are we gonna kick today?_

_Some dusty old dragon butt?_ I almost ask.

_Who?_ he demands of me.

_Some dusty old dragon butt, _this time, I say it more firmly.

_I'm sorry,_ Lu simpers in a condescending tone, _I couldn't hear you._

_I said, some dusty old dragon butt! _I all but growl at him.

_WHO!_

"SOME DUSTY OLD DRAGON BUTT!" I shout with my physical voice while raising my hands in defiance. Unfortunately, I hollered right in Damien's ear, and it was pretty loud and unexpected, so he naturally swerved. Very fortunately for us, he swerved right into the parking lot for the Convention Center, so it sorta worked out. Serendipitous things happen to folks when they're high. That is a fact...Yes it is.

We walk through the double glass doors and into the large foyer area, where people are milling about at the concession stands scattered around. On normal days, people can pay a couple bucks for entry and come watch people try to win the Gym challenge. I've seen it a couple times myself, so I've got a pretty good idea of how the Leader battles.

"Esteban!" exclaims a voice with a heavy Mexican accent, and I whirl around only to be engulfed in a crushing hug I'd know anywhere.

"Hey, Mama Trejo!" I reply, trying to return the hug without having my ribs cracked. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?" 

My would-be attacker holds me at arm length, and I get my first good glimpse at Vera 'Mama' Trejo in a long time. Her once jet-colored hair is now salt-and-pepper, but her deep, chocolate-colored eyes remain as mirth-filled as they ever were.

"You call two years a while?" Mama says incredulously, a frown on her aging face. "I haven't seen you since you and Dulce broke up! That shouldn't stop you from coming to visit your favorite godmother, though. And how are you, Lu? You've gotten so big!"

While Lu gets the over-emotional greeting of an old Mexican grandmother, I can hear Damien mutter, "Dude, Remy dated the L.A. Gym Leader?"

"For about five months, I think," Chuck replies. "It was one of those whirlwind romances that ended about as quickly as it started. It was when the last Gym Leader died that Dulce broke it off with Remy."

"They weren't really right for each other anyways," Sam grunts. "I don't even want to know what happened during those few months."

"Really?" Chuck drawls sarcastically, nudging Damien in the side and grinning. "I'm kinda getting the vibe that you actually do, Ms. High-and-Mighty."

I wait until Sam decks Chuck in the jaw to ask, "Could you, like, not talk about me when I'm less than a foot away?" before turning back to Mama. "I know, I know. I have no excuses for not visiting, but it would've been awkward, I guess."

"Awkward," snorted Mama. "You don't know the meaning of awkward, _mijo_. But come on, everyone's waiting for you to get ready." She turns to the others in my party and says, "You can go into the Challenger's Box through that door right there." Mama points to a door to the side while handing them key card passes, and Flash Cannon sans one shuffles through it.

Mama Trejo leads Lu and me through a door next to that one, down some long, concrete hallways, and finally ending our journey in front of a large opening at the end of the widest corridor yet. Beyond that is a stadium full of people waiting to see me get pwned by their favorite Gym Leader. I've only seen this opening from the outside, where the away team in major sports events come out onto the field or court, or whatever.

"Now, you stay here, Esteban," Mama Trejo orders. "As you know, I'm the referee, so I need to go out there and announce you and Dulce. When I say your name, you come out and wave and everything for the crowd. Here," she hands me a headset to be used to allow my Pokémon to hear me over the din of the masses. "Put that on, and keep it on."

"Gotcha."

She pinches one of my cheeks and grins at me before darting off quicker than she should have been able to into a door I hadn't even noticed just to our right.

_So this is it,_ I think, more to myself than to Lu. But of course, he has to butt in with his own two cents.

_Hell yeah, man,_ Lu crows in excitement. _I can't wait to beat up some Dragons!_

_Well, actually_, I rub the back of my neck. _You're probably not gonna get a chance to fight this time, buddy. I've already got the four Pokés I'm gonna use during this battle._

_What!_ he exclaims in my mind, his surprise and annoyance reverberating around inside my skull. _Who are they? I'll beat their asses!_

Rolling my eyes, I start to reply when I hear, "...and now, here is our challenger, straight from your backyard in South Central L.A., Remus Esteban Miguel Yucatan!" I so wish that Mama Trejo didn't know my full name.

"Well, c'mon, Lu," I tell him. "Stop pouting like a little Riolu."

_Shut up,_ he grouses, though he follows me out into the main stadium nevertheless. The crowd erupts into cheers as one of their own steps out onto the battlefield. I wave for a little bit and catch the band cheering from center field, so naturally, I have to aim a fist-pump in their direction.

The field itself is full of sand, with several jet-black rocks that jut up out of the sandy ground randomly. I haven't measured it personally, but it should be a Pokémon League regulation size of ten yards by five yards.

Several dozen feet above the very middle of the battlefield is a humongous cube, each side of which holds two pictures and four empty slots below each one. The picture on the right is my own pretty mug, a picture that seems to have been lifted from my Trainer ID card (I can tell because of the look of utter surprise on my slightly tilted face, as well as the empty Pokéball that managed to make its way into the picture, because Sam thought it would be funny if she tried to catch me at the exact moment the flash went off). The other's empty, although I knew who'd be up there in a bit.

On a slightly raised dais, wearing a microphone headset and holding two flags with a Pokéball insignia on either one, is Mama Trejo, acting as referee of the match.

"And now, your favorite Leader in the world, _y_ _mis pequeña niñita-_"

I grin when I hear a half-embarrassed, half-exasperated, "_Abuela!_" from across the stadium, despite the noise.

"Sorry, _mija_," Mama apologizes, although with a wide smile on her face. "And now, the Los Angeles Gym Leader, Dulce Trejo!"

The stadium goes absolutely spare as a beautiful Dragonair glides out of the large opening opposite the one I just came out of, and sitting astride the Dragon-type Pokémon is my ex-girlfriend and the Leader at the L.A. Gym.

She got, if possible, hotter than she had been when we were sixteen. For sure, her curves got a lot more dangerous. Hell, I don't even think my Camaro would be able to handle 'em with its awesome traction and handling. Her silvery eyes are still as sharp and bright as ever, and her midnight-colored hair is pulled up into a messy bun, a few choice bangs framing her heart-shaped face nicely.

Dulce drops to the ground smack-dab in the center of the Leader's Trainer box, a hand on her hip and a slightly amused expression on her face, her full lips pulled into a grin while the Dragonair, named Iris, if I remember correctly, coils around her. "Well, look what the Meowth dragged in."

"Hey yourself, Sweetness," I shoot back amidst the cheering the crowd is unleashing. "Haven't seen you in a while." Despite contrary opinion, we didn't really end up on bad terms after we broke up. We're still...friends, I suppose you could call us. Friends who, at one point in our lives, have had intercourse. Heh, heh, giggity.

"Yeah, that's 'cause you're too chicken to come see me anymore," Dulce replies, her grin widening.

Before I can answer back, Mama Trejo interrupts. "Enough with the chitter-chatter," she scolds us."This will be a four-on-four single battle!" announces Mama, looking from me to Dulce. "The Gym Leader may not substitute Pokémon. The challenger can switch out at any point during the match. Do you understand these rules?"

"Um, yeah, I guess," I say.

Mama Trejo raises the two flags, indigo for Dulce and sand-colored for me, then drops them, shouting, "Then begin the match!"

Dulce selects a Pokéball and tosses it out onto the battlefield, revealing a shrew-porcupine thingy with massive claws and quills. Most of her body is sand-colored, but the quills on her back are the color of bark. So she's leading with a Sandslash, huh? Well, I got just the Poké for this one.

"You're up, Holly!" I shout, hurling my Sceptile's Pokéball out onto the field. Holly pops out onto the sandy ground and inspects her opponent.

"Scep, scep tile," she smirks, hopping to and fro on light Sceptile-feet. As much of a 'ready when you are' I'll ever get from her.

"Katana," Dulce addresses the Sandslash, "start this off with X-Scissor!" Katana the Sandslash raises her massive claws across her chest as they begin to glow silver, and darts forward to attack.

"Detect it," I tell Holly, and she widens her stance while lengthening her wrist blades slightly. Katana gets within a foot of Holly, claws even closer, when Holly's arms come up. The fork in her double-blades catch each of Katana's claws, leaving her wide open. "Now, Leaf Blade!"

The twin blades on Holly's opposite wrist grows as she pushes Katana back and off-balance, then lashes out, catching Katana with the blades on her vulnerable belly and knocking her several feet away.

"Dig!" shouts Dulce, obviously rattled that we were able to stop the otherwise very effective attack. Katana rights her equilibrium mid-air and dives into the earth as easily as if it was water.

I hate it when Dig is used against me and my Pokémon. It's damned hard to even find the general position of the user, let alone pinpoint them. It's even harder to dodge, and the only way to hit the Pokémon while it's subterranean is with an Earthquake or Magnitude attack, neither of which are on Holly's roster of moves.

I've got about half a minute before that Sandslash comes up out of the ground like in that one movie, _Tremors_ and lays Holly out. Think fast, think fast, think fast, think...

"Holly, Double-Team!" Double-Team is a speed move that offers the illusion of multiple enemies when, in reality, it's only the one foe moving so fast it creates several after-images of themselves. It also works for underground enemies because the massive amount of speed required lets out a sick amount of vibrations that throws off their subterranean guidance system.

So, as a result of Holly's super-speed skill, Katana erupts from the ground several feet from the real Sceptile. "Now, quick! Wood Hammer!"

The bush that Holly calls a tail glows brilliant green as she dashes toward the still airborne Sandslash and whips it around, adding her momentum to the swing. Her tail hits Katana with such force that the Ground-type is blown clear across the battlefield, skidding to a halt in front of Dulce.

With a painful-sounding grunt, Katana kips back onto her feet, a determined glint in her eyes. "You alright, K?" Dulce asks with concern, and Katana nods while squeaking out an affirmative. "Way to take a hit! Now, Sandstorm!"

Katana swipes at the sandy ground of the battlefield with her claws, kicking up a thick cloud of dirt and dust that whirls around the field that obscures a lot of my vision. Ground-types are such assholes sometimes, I swear.

"Holly, Leaf Storm!" Holly sets herself, then begins twirling like a ballerina, or a figure skater, razor-sharp leaves slicing though the dust bowl all around her. If you can't see 'em...shoot at everything, right? At least one shot will hit. Hopefully.

A sudden bulge in the ground behind Holly alerts me to Katana's whereabouts too late, and the Sandslash leaps up out of the ground, her left claw glowing a sickly violet color.

"Poison Jab!" Dulce shouts, and Katana stabs out and catches Holly in the gut, pushing her back and doing major damage from the super-effective hit.

"Holly!" I shout, itching to go and see if she's alright. But the Sceptile hops up, waiting on her quick feet for my next command. "That's what I like to see! Now show me Salvo Seed!"

Each and every Pokémon I have can perform a technique that is completely unique to them. No other Pokémon in the world can do anything like it, because I personally trained with them to develop the special moves. Salvo Seed is Holly's.

Holly screeches at the top of her lungs, and seeds of all shapes and sizes erupt from the ground everywhere within the battlefield, hanging in the air by the sheer force of Holly's will. They begin to glow with a lime-green energy, and suddenly, Holly thrusts her arms out, opening her mouth.

The seeds she'd pulled from the earth blast out first, peppering the sand and the obsidian outcroppings, as well as doing some initial damage to Katana, who was lucky enough to dodge most of them. But the torrent of energy-infused seeds that blast of Holly's mouth with the force of a Gatling gun catches the poor Sandslash flat-footed, and she's literally blown into the wall behind her Trainer.

The crowd screams its approval of my Pokémon's capacity for pure devastating power as Dulce recalls Katana and Mama Trejo raises the sand-colored flag, announcing, "Katana is unable to battle; Holly wins the round! Choose your next Pokémon, _mis querida_."

After telling her grandma off for such an embarrassing display of affection, Dulce, shouts, "You're up, Sonora!" tossing a Pokéball onto the field.

If Dulce is to be believed, she caught Sonora fully-evolved in the Sonora Desert. I personally don't think that's the case. Then again, I caught a fully-evolved Gyrados, so I can't talk. Anyway, a very cool Flygon erupts from its Pokéball, rearing and ready to battle. Sonora's so cool because of her awesome, see-through eye covers, which instead of being the color of a ruby, are more amethyst than anything. It goes better with her emerald scales, in my opinion, anyway.

Holly and Sonora have a little staring contest, trying to psyche the other out. The only problem with this is that Holly lost a lot of her power after that last attack, one of the only downsides to the Salvo Seed attack, while Sonora is in full health and strength.

"Sonora, Flamethrower!" A thick column of fire bursts from the Dragon-type's mouth and streams toward Holly. But the flames pass harmlessly below a now-airborne Sceptile. I told you that Holly's uber-fast.

"Dragon Pulse!" I shout, and Holly responds with a swirling beam of indigo energy that strikes Sonora in the side, momentarily grounding her. "Now, Dragon Claw augmented with Extremespeed!" Before the last of the Dragon Pulse finishes impacting on Sonora, Holly zips forward, faster than the eye can see, and reappears directly in front of the Flygon, one of her blades fully extended and glowing silvery-blue.

Poor Sonora didn't stand a chance.

As the Dragon-type staggered back, wings beating desperately to keep it in the air, Dulce takes the opportunity. "Hurry, while it's close! Fire Blast!" Sonora's mouth opens again, but this time, a five-pronged explosion of intense heat and fire shoots out and slams into Holly with the force of a stampeding Tauros.

My Sceptile rolls back, sporting several large burns, and her normally leaf-green scales are paling, a sure sign of poisoning. Damn that Sandslash. I start to pull Holly's Pokéball out to recall her when she gives me a backward glance over her shoulder as she's getting up, smoldering with fight. She wants to finish this battle, even if it means she gets hurt more.

"Have it your way, Holly," I tell her. "Salvo Seed, once more!"

"Pull out the big guns, Sonora," Dulce retorts. "Draco Meteor!" The two Pokémon ready their attacks. More seeds shoot up out of the ground, though significantly less than her first attempt; must not be too many seeds in the Gym proper. Meanwhile, Sonora builds up a blinding white ball of power in its mouth that she fires into the sky at the same time that Holly fires her chain-gun seed blast.

The Salvo Seed strikes Sonora on the leg, a glancing blow compared to what Holly got in return. While she was aiming, Holly wasn't paying attention to the huge sphere of energy, which, when it reached its zenith, burst into smaller balls that streamed back down to the battlefield, slamming into the ground, and Holly, like the meteors the attack was named after.

When the dust settles, Holly's laying on her stomach, completely drained, while Sonora's sitting on a cushion of air, easily keeping beat with the steady rhythm of her wings.

"Holly is unable to battle," Mama Trejo reports, raising the indigo marker in her hand. "Sonora wins the round!"

The amassed people screamed its approval of their Gym Leader and her Pokémon while I recall Holly. "You did a good job, Hols," I whisper to the ball. "Put a big dent in that overgrown lizard." I place the ball back in my pocket, my hand coming back out with another. "Now to make that dent into a chasm! You're on, Dizzy!"

The burst of light that flies from my Pokéball coalesces into my Hitmontop, already spinning on her head like a break-dancer before hopping up and righting herself, taking a fighting stance.

"Dizzy, Rock Slide!" I order, and Dizzy spins into overdrive, balancing on the tip of her head spike while angling toward one of the black boulders strewn across the field. One kick smashes the rock into smaller boulders, and the several dozen subsequent kicks strike the broken pieces at high velocity toward Sonora.

"Whirlwind!" shouts Dulce, and Sonora retaliates with a fierce burst of wind that knocks the stone shower off course and rendering the Rock Slide next to useless. Of course, when I say next to useless...

"Earthquake!" I shout, and Dizzy's rotation increases, so much so that the sand begins shifting and sliding until suddenly the battlefield shakes uncontrollably.

"What are you doing, stupid?" Dulce shouts, a smirk on her face. "Didn't you remember that Sonora's Levitate ability protects her from Ground-based attacks?"

"Watch and learn, Sweet-ums," I inform her, a matching grin on my own visage. "I'm about to show you the difference in skill sets between a Gym Leader's grandkid and a Champion's grandkid." The battlefield continues to shake, hydraulics below the rectangle protecting the rest of the Convention Center from collapsing in a heap of rubble.

The rocks that Sonora knocked out of the sky start to jump, first just inches off the ground, then higher and higher until they're flying feet above the Flygon, who's caught in a trap of bouncing stones that continuously crash into her.

Eventually Dizzy lets up, and Sonora, beaten and bruised, catches her breath on the sandy ground.

"Sandstorm!" Dulce commands, and Sonora's wings whip up a maelstrom of tiny grains of rock that keep getting in my eyes. Dizzy must be virtually blind out there. "Now, Faint Attack!"

Through the haze of the sandstorm, I can see a large silhouette descend upon a smaller shadow, and hear Dizzy's cry of pain and surprise.

"Triple Kick!" The smaller figure starts spinning, and I hear the crack of two feet and a tail slam into a head. "Now, get this sand outta the air with Rapid Spin!" I hear a strange, ripping sound, like one of those ripcord spinning top things and in seconds, the sandstorm breaks.

"Hyper Beam!" A golden burst of energy lances through the falling sand and slams into Dizzy's still-spinning form, sending her crashing into an outcropping of dark stone. I can see a bit of my Hitmontop's tail, which is twitching feebly.

"C'mon, Diz, you can do it!" I yell encouragement to her as Sonora recharges from the Hyper Beam attack. "Get up!"

By the time I see any major movement in the rocky rubble, Sonora's back in action, and Dulce's ordering up another Hyper Beam to serve directly to Dizzy's face.

As the second beam of energy streaks through the air toward Dizzy's tomb, a ribbon of pure, radiant light shoots from a gap between two of the larger rocks, followed by a brilliant flash of the same energy that blinds everyone for a second.

By the time I've blinked away the last of the spots in my vision, I already know what that light was: Dizzy evolved. I can't really believe it, but there's no other explanation. I didn't even know Hitmontop evolve once again. But my grandad always said to never say never, and to keep my mind open to new possibilities, and, despite us living alongside Pokémon since the beginning of time, humans still don't know all there is to know about Pokémon.

The rubble had been blasted yards away, and standing where a Hitmontop should've been is something that slightly resembles what Dizzy used to be. Her skin is still the same light brown color, but the lower part of her body, the tip of her tail, and her feet (all four of them) are a sort of muted blue color. Around her ankles and wrists are dark, spiked bands.

I, along with most everyone else in the stadium, whip out my handy-dandy Pokédex and point the sensor toward Dizzy. After a few moments, my recently-upgraded electronic encyclopedia makes a little whirring noise and a beautiful picture of Dizzy, or a Pokémon who looks remarkably like her, appears on the screen, along with a digitized voice that sounds a bit like Morgan Freeman.

"Hitmontwister," Morgan says in his calm, low voice. "The Spinning Top Pokémon, and the final evolution of Tyrogue using the balanced training method. Hitmontwister uses its five whip-like lower appendages like maces to strike their opponents while spinning at speeds that exceed one-hundred and fifty-three miles per hour. The skin flaps that connect its four legs catch the winds created by its spin and allow it to fly."

Well, that's pretty damn cool. And it sounds even cooler with Morgan Freeman telling me about my cool new Pokémon! Maybe that's why they picked him to be the voice of the Pokédex.

All over the stadium, people are rethinking their bets against me right now. "Okay, Dizzy, show me what you can do! Close Combat!"

Dizzy darts forward, using her feet to gain momentum before up-ending herself and beginning her spin. Sonora doesn't even have time to react before two pairs of spiked legs, a heavy tail, and a couple fists methodically go about beating the crap out of her. Dizzy's like a...like a crazy capoeira machine.

"Get it away! Dragonbreath!" Sonora rears back her head, dodging a sizzling kick, and releases a greenish-blue wave of flames that licks Dizzy and giving her a bit of damage as it pushes her back, throwing her out of her spin.

"We've gotta finish this, Diz," I tell my newly-evolved companion. "Spiral Ki Strike!" Dizzy leaps into the air and begins to twirl again, but this time, she seems to be hovering in the air. Man, that's totally awesome. As her spinning motion gets faster, she rises higher and higher until she's on Sonora's level, about twelve feet above the ground.

"Draco Meteor, one last time!" exclaims Dulce, trying to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

She keeps going and going until whirling streaks of reddish light start dancing across her spinning form, finally coalescing into a burst of swirling energy that blasts toward Sonora as the Dragon-type unleashes her most powerful move into the sky above them.

The Fighting-type energy slams into Sonora all over the place, one of the cool aspects about Dizzy's special move, but then something kinda weird happens: The Draco Meteor rains down upon both Pokémon, as well as the floor of the battlefield, further crushing the dark stone and sand.

When Mama Trejo inspects both of the fallen Pokémon, she declares, "Neither Pokémon is able to continue. This round is a draw!" waving both flags upward.

We both recall our Pokémon and select another while Dulce gives me a smile. "You're not doin' too bad, Remy. I haven't had anyone get past Sonora in a long time."

"I know," I answer, retrieving my third Pokémon. "I've been following your record for a bit, and I honestly can't understand how you've been doing so good." That draws an irked huff from her lips, and I grin widely. "I'm about to break your winning streak, Sweetie-Pie. Rampage, you're up!"

"Just keep tellin' yourself that, Wolfie," she growls, using the name she used to call me when we were together. "Center stage, Sahara!"

Her Pokéball unleashes a vicious Garchomp while mine releases one of the most feared Pokémon in the world: Rampage the Gyrados.

Several years before I was born, reports began coming in that claimed a huge Gyrados with darker blue pigmentation than normal was beginning to carve a destructive path of chaos from the Cape Horn to the coastlines of Brazil. The 'Killer' Gyrados continued to wreak havoc upon the coastal cities of the Atlantic Ocean, going from South America to Europe to Africa to North America, then doing it all over again. Dozens of teams went out to either capture or kill it, but ironically, it was a six-year-old kid who caught it with a simple Pokéball.

Rampage lets out a richly-layered roar that seems to make Garchomp think twice about wanting to fight this behemoth. But the Dragon-type steels himself and gets into a fighting stance.

"Sahara, start this off with a Thunder Fang!" Dulce shouts, and her Garchomp complies, rocketing forward with lightning-infused teeth bared and aiming for Rampage's upper body.

"Slam the door in his face with Blizzard!" I retort. Rampage exhales, and a freezing wind fills the Gym, causing many in the crowd to pull their sweaters closer and rub their arms for warmth. Sahara has no hope of dodging it, and takes it full in the face, the electricity that had been dancing around his fangs fizzled out instantly, and a thick sheet of ice quickly enveloped the Pokémon with dual Ground and Dragon attributes (both of 'em are weak against Ice-type moves).

As soon as the literal blizzard ends, Sahara's completely out of commission and encased in a block of ice several inches thick. Without even pausing, Mama shouts, "Sahara is unable to battle. Rampage wins the round!"

The crowd is silent for a moment before bursting out in surprised cheering. I have to grin at the dumbstruck look on Dulce's face as my Gyrados roars his dominance to those in attendance, as if to say, _Yeah, that's right. Who's the Poké? I'm da Poké!_

Angrily, Dulce recalls her frozen pal and then nods at her Dragonair, who has been posted up this whole time behind her, watching the action. Now, she rises up and literally swims through the air and into the battlefield, hovering like it was nothing special. Man, Dragonair are pretty awesome creatures.

"Iris, Supersonic!" shouts Dulce, initiating the battle. The Dragonair glides higher into the air and releases a short blast of sonic energy that strikes Rampage in the face. He shakes his head, like there's a Beedrill bothering him, and then slams his head into the ground like a dumbass.

Rolling my eyes, I suddenly get an idea. I normally wouldn't use this move as it makes Rampage act, well, like he's acting now, but now that he's already confused, I'm sure he won't mind. "Hey, stupid! Use it to our advantage! Thrash!"

For a second, I'm afraid he didn't understand me, but then his whole body twists in such a crazy way that he's flying up into the air, tail up higher than his head, and then whips down and hits Iris in the back of the skull, sending her for a loop before he lands (more or less) gracefully, and his confusion seems to be forgotten in the crash back to earth.

"Now, Dragon Pulse!" I tell him, and a swirling beam of power similar to the one Holly used earlier shoots from Rampage's mouth toward Iris, but it wasn't meant to be.

"Agility!" commands Dulce, and Iris instantly obeys, twisting out of the way faster than I would've thought possible if I hadn't had a Dragonair myself. The Dragon Pulse goes wide, and Rampage growls in annoyance.

"Tell me about it, buddy," I agree with him. "Dragon Dance!" Rampage begins a swaying, twisting series of movements that are meant to help boost his speed and special attack, but it leaves him wide open for attack.

"Quickly Iris, Thunderbolt!" The horn on Iris' forehead crackles briefly with lightning before a thin stream of it slices out, striking Rampage on the top of his dorsal fin, scorching him slightly. It's just bad luck that dual Water and Wind-type Pokémon like Rampage are very susceptible to electrical attacks.

"Rampage, Dragon Rage!" I shout, and he responds by building up a ball of crackling white energy in his mouth before belting it out like a Christmas carol. The Dragon attack slams neatly into Iris, doing some moderate damage and knocking her down to Rampage's level.

Dulce growls angrily before saying, "Iris, Rainbow Shot!" The two jewels on Iris' tail, and the one below her jaw on her neck begin to swirl with iridescent colors before the light transfers to her horn and erupts into a beam of multicolored energy not dissimilar to a Signal Beam attack, yet so much more powerful.

It's so strong that, upon impact, it creates a concussive shockwave that sends not only Rampage, but me as well, flying into the concrete barricade that separates the lower seats with the battlefield. After shaking off the stars that blinked up into my vision, I turn my head to make sure Rampage is alright.

The big Gyrados is in the same predicament I am, blinking away the little Spearow that are flying around his head and glancing my way.

"You okay, big guy?" I ask, rubbing a tender part of my head gingerly. He grunts in reply before loosing a low roar. "Good to hear. Let's get back in there and beat some Dragon ass!" This time, his roar is louder and more vital-sounding.

After retaking our places, I shout, "You showed us yours, now we'll show you ours! Neptunian Fury!" Rampage rears his head back, growls, and then releases a veritable flood of glowing, mystical blue water that spins in a tight spiral right at Iris, knocking her back with the sheer pressure of the strike.

But she wasn't out of the game, not by a long shot. After shaking off the cobwebs, Iris rises back into the sky, looking a little more than miffed. "Dragon Cannon!" Darkness seems to descend upon the stadium, but that's just a cool effect that results from the incredibly bright light emanating from Iris' horn. The light lances out, cutting through the shadows and striking Rampage right in the face, sending him crashing, once more, into the concrete wall behind me.

I rush up to him, checking to see if he's okay. When I discover that he's knocked out, I give Mama Trejo the signal, and she proclaims that the round goes to Iris as I recall my fallen homie. Okay, I'm down to my last Pokémon, and I know just who it'll be.

"Last call, Puff," I shout, tossing my final Pokémon onto the field. "Let's rock and roll!" The ball bursts open, and a golden and silver Dragonite erupts onto the field, bugling happily. Everything about him, from the tip of his diamond-like claws to the very ends of his little antennae things, is completely one-of-a-kind. Even the copper-colored membranes of his wings are unique.

"Wow," breathes Dulce, eyes widening in wonderment despite herself. "That's one good-looking Dragonite, Remy." The crowd seems to agree with her, snapping pictures on their camera phones of the shiny Dragonite.

"Aw, stop," I say. "You're making him blush." Puff pretends to act embarrassed, and the crowd starts laughing at his antics. "Well, let's get this show on the road. Start with Twister!"

Puff nods once before powering his wings into overdrive and creating a light olive tornado that tears toward Iris, who gets caught up and spun like she was on crack. Heh. Anyway, the lesser evolution finally twirls to a halt mid-air and shakes it off. I wouldn't have expected anything less from a Gym Leader's best Pokémon.

"Okay, Iris?" Dulce inquires, and when the Dragon-type nods and trills an affirmative, Dulce grins. "Great! Let's see an Ice Beam!" Iris' horn glows pale blue before a thin, unstable stream of ice-cold energy slithers out, aiming for Puff.

"No dice," I shout with a smirk. "Flamethrower!" A tongue of flames just about as thick as the Ice Beam shoots from Puff's mouth, just enough to melt and neutralize the threat of the ice-based attack. Puff's got some of the best control I've ever seen, and that's great because he won't wear himself out so easily. "Now, Thunderwave!"

The antennae on Puff's head spark together before a swath of lightning jolts outward, striking Iris' tail and traveling all the way up her snake-like body, paralyzing her briefly.

"Great! Dragon Wrath!" This is Puff's unique move, and it's a helluva doozy. Puff first gathers the core elements of the Dragon type: burning fire in his mouth, icy water from his horn, crackling lightning dancing around his antennae, amber ki energy in his left hand, white solar power in his right, and swirling wind in his wing membranes, then channels it all up into a huge Kamehameha-esque ball in his claws and lets it fly. That's why it takes awhile to charge up, and then there's a cool-down period when Puff has to rest up afterward.

It's also why Puff needs to paralyze his opponent before even attempting it, since it leaves him wide open to attacks. Anyway, Puff manages to charge it, and thrusts his arms forward, loosing a tremendous beam of energy that might just be thicker around than Iris herself, with a sound like a cannon firing.

Poor Iris doesn't stand a chance, and she gets blown from nearly center-field all the way into the concrete barricade. In fact, when the beam attack fades away, Iris is crumpled in a circular indentation several feet thick.

The crowd is stunned into silence. I bet none of 'em would've ever thought that Dulce's Dragonair could've been downed so easily and thoroughly as how Puff just handled her. Mama's just about to call the match when a glow similar to the one that Dizzy emitted begins enveloping Iris, and I grin. No kind of battle like a battle between a pair of Dragonite.

So I'm pretty surprised when, instead of gaining girth and a pair of limbs, Iris elongates while growing thicker around. A quartet of slim, spindly limbs, ending in sharp claws, sprouts from her sinuous body, and the wings on her head migrate to just above the forelegs, growing in size and gaining a rainbow hue of colorful feathers. Her horn grows longer, and a third jewel is added to the end of her tail.

Once again, I go to my trusty Pokédex for some guidance, and Morgan Freeman once again provides the answer.

"Dragonaut," he tells me calmly after the sensor picks up Iris' new form. "The Rainbow Dragon Pokémon, and the female evolution of Dragonair. In ancient days, this Pokémon was revered as a sun god in Mayan and Aztec mythology. It is said to reside on the far side of rainbows and appears once every twenty one years to those of pure hearts."

Wow. My brain is almost on overload, learning of the existence of two Pokémon in one day, one match for a Gym Badge, no less! I can honestly say that I'm pretty damned lucky to be able to say that.

Dulce's grin is feral as she shouts, "Extremespeed!" The newly evolved Iris simply disappears, and suddenly, a big, sapphire-hued tail slams into Puff and nearly drops him from the sky. That body of Iris' is just like a bullwhip; fast and dangerous!

Okay, she wants to play, we'll play! "Puff, show me your Dragon Dance!" I hope I'm timing this right...Puff starts doing a little mid-air shuffle that loosens up his limbs and gives him a speed and power boost.

"Hyper Beam!" exclaims Dulce, sensing an opportunity. It's just too bad that Iris is still paralyzed. I saw the signs that she was stiffening up again just before I had Puff perform his silly jig, knowing that he'd be safe. Just another thing that my seven ex-champion mentors taught me: timing is _everything_.

"Wonderful performance, Puff!" I applaud my Pokémon, and he gives a little bow. "Now, give me some Draco Meteors!"

Puff releases a brilliant globe of energy that bursts into hundreds of smaller balls of destructive power that fall like streamers onto Iris, doing major damage. Goodness, this battle is freakin' off the chain! I'm gonna have to get me a copy of it from the cameramen that are broadcasting this on live local television.

Dulce growls in frustration, her fists clenching as she screams, "Iris, it's time to end this! Rainbow Shot!"

Knowing that this will be the last exchange in the match, I hurriedly shout, "Puff, match it with Sho-Ryu-Sen!"

Wow, Iris' Rainbow Shot is even cooler now that she's evolved! Her four jewels glow even more brightly, as do her wings and eyes, before they all center at her horn's tip and blazes out in a stream of glorious power.

But Puff shouldn't be counted out of this yet. Another of his signature moves is Sho-Ryu-Sen, or Rising Dragon Flash. It's sort of a Sky Attack mixed with Outrage and Dragon Rush. It's pretty damn awesome, if I may say so.

His wings begin glowing first as he wings his way up, followed by the rest of his body, which starts to emit an indigo glow and trailing a slight tail behind him. When he reaches the zenith of his flight, his eyes flash white, and then he dives downward in a tight spiral around the multicolored blast, slamming right into Iris' head and driving her into the sandy field below, blowing up a cloud of dust.

When the debris settles, Puff's standing in a fighting position over the fallen form of Iris, this time completely knocked out, but Puff is still looking around with angry confusion in his eyes. I see it, and pull something out of my pocket before running onto the battlefield before he can do anything crazy.

See, you know how the move Outrage is a super-strong attack, but leaves the user all messed up and confused and junk? Well, think of the Sho-Ryu-Sen as a supercharged Outrage. Yeah, I think you can put two and two together. A confused Dragonite is not something you wanna meet in a dark alley.

"Hey, stupid!" I shout, trying to catch his attention. It works, and his angry eyes bore into me as he swings his head around. It's a bit scary to think about, but if Puff was a wild Pokémon, and in a particularly miffed mood, he has the means and the capacity to completely obliterate me.

Shaking off those kinds of thoughts, I crush the Mental Herb in my hand and shove the crumbled remains and pungent odors into Puff's nostrils. He rears back in alarm, then sneezes explosively for a few seconds before blinking and looking around, his old jolly self once more.

I turn to the Mama Trejo, who's still got the sandy colored flag up and grin. "That could've been messy," I say.

"I'll say," she answers dryly. Then, "Iris is unable to battle. The round and the match goes to Puff and Remus! Leader, present the winner with his prize!"

After recalling Iris and looking at her Pokéball for a few long seconds, Dulce turns her eyes to mine and smiles, walking forward to where Puff and I stand near center-field, pulling around a bag that she'd had on her shoulders and fishing in one of the pockets.

"Congratulations, Remy," she says, withdrawing her hand, fingers clasped around something. "You've defeated me and my elite team of Dragon and Ground-type Pokémon. As per the rules of the American League of Pokémon Trainers, I hereby confer upon you the Halo Badge, the official badge of the Los Angeles Gym." After finishing her speech, she holds out her hand.

On her outward facing palm, shining brightly in the halogen lights high above, is a small piece of metal shaped like an angel's halo and a matching pair of wings that look suspiciously like a Dragonair's. Hm.

I smile and take the badge from her, raising it into the air for the crowd to see. They give me a cheer for being the first challenger in over six months to beat the little devil who runs the Gym of the City of Angels.

Puff bugles his happiness, and lifts me up onto his shoulders for a victory lap around the stadium.

When he finally sets me down, Dulce approaches me again, holding up the bag. "You almost forgot your prize money, Wolfie," she says, indicating the bag as I try to make my windswept hair lie flat again.

"Thanks a lot," I reply, taking the bag. "This right here's our livelihood for awhile."

"What do you mean?" she asks, looking confused. "Wait, hold on. Follow me to the Leader's quarters; I've got an Injury Repair Machine in there for particularly bad battles, like this one. We can heal our Pokémon while we talk."

I think about it for a moment, then nod. "Sure. We haven't talked in a long time. C'mon, Puff. Lu, think you can bring the band down?"

Lu, who had been moping around in my Trainer's box, gives me a sullen glare before slouching over to find the others. As we disappear into the maze of hallways, I can see the clean-up crew start to sweep the sand back together and have their muscle-bound Fighting Pokémon assist with cleaning up all the broken and smashed rocks that our Pokémon exploded with their awesomeness.

Dulce leads me down a few corridors before opening a door and leading me inside. Contained within is something like a five-star spa or something. There's a mud bath, already heated and steaming, a hot tub (I can't tell if it's a time machine from here), and a huge buffet table with a very impressive spread of cheeses and cold meats and crackers and things, along with an indigo suede lounging couch. In the corner is a big machine with a dozen semi-circular slots and a large LCD display.

It's to this machine that we head first, and Dulce places her four Pokéballs into the first indentations, which fit perfectly, then gestures for me to do the same. After bringing Puff back into his ball, I place his, Dizzy's, Rampage's, and Holly's into a slot and watch as the machine starts its work. A picture of each of our Pokémon come up on the liquid crystal screen, a small bar that signifies their health popping up next to them that slowly begins to fill up.

"So," Dulce says, throwing herself onto the lounge. "What did you mean earlier?"

"Well, we're going on a little mission to the Battle of the Bands competition," I say. "We're kinda low money-wise, so we decided that at every Gym we find, I go in, kick the Leader's butt, and take the prize money to keep us financially stable during our tour."

"So, you're taking the League Challenge while simultaneously doing a BoB tour?" Dulce asks, sitting forward as I ease into a nearby recliner. "I didn't even know that you were in a band."

"Yeah, kinda weird how that happened, but I'm glad it did," I say with a grin. "We play punk rock and stuff that sounds cool to us. We're actually set to start tonight at the Hollywood Bowl, playing a three-song set with a couple other BoB hopefuls."

"That's pretty big," Dulce points out, "playing at the Hollywood Bowl. You're gonna be performing on the same stage that the Beatles once stood on. What do you play, anyway?" 

"My vocal chords, mostly," I answer, watching as Puff's health bar fills up. "But I do some keyboarding work when the need arises. You should come see us; it'll be good for our hype if a Gym Leader came to see us."

Dulce pouts. "So, that's all I'm good for anymore? Publicity?" She gets off her seat and walks over to me, hands on her hips in an 'I'm waiting' pose with a matching expression on her face.

I sigh and try to backtrack. "That's not what I said. Look, let me try again. Would you like to come watch my band and I play some songs at a cool venue? You could probably get in for free on account of your celebrity status. And you're good for more than just that."

"Oh?" she asks, sidling up close enough to make me uncomfortable. "And what do you think I'm good for, exactly?"

Part of my brain is thinking, _Wait a minute, Remy. Think about what's going on and analyze this before you make any rash decisions now. _It actually sounds kinda like Lu...

"Um..." Right about now, Dulce's sliding onto my lap, moving her hands to a place that makes it hard for my brain to perform basic thought processes. "H-hey, I'm not exactly-"

It seems that Dulce doesn't care about what I have to say, because the next thing I know, her lips are on mine, and my arms are wrapping around her slim waist, roaming her curvy form. The part of my mind that had been trying to warn me is cheering me on as Dulce tangles her fingers in my hair and tugs lightly, pulling my head back to plant wet kisses on my neck and collarbone.

Oh, she's a naughty little girl! I think a bit of spanking is in order. My hand is raised and poised to deliver a little slap to Dulce's bum when the door swings wide. The sensible side of my head shrinks in fear at the shadowy form in the doorway.

Uh-oh! Spaghetti-O's!

"What the hell-!" Sam starts before Chuck's arms come out from behind her and pull her out of the doorjamb while Damien grabs the door and slams it shut quickly. Dulce looks from me to the door before climbing off of my lap quickly and smoothing her clothes.

"Oh, my God," she mutters, glancing at me sheepishly. "I'm soo sorry! I didn't know you and Sam were together, Remy. I just don't know what came over me."

She continues babbling for a moment before I stop her with a raised hand. "Sweetness, it's okay. Sam's not my girlfriend." I don't know why she reacted that way, but at least her distraction helped me regain my hormone-addled senses. "Look. You're a beautiful girl; I should know, too. But we already tried, and you called it quits. Sorry, but the best we can be now is friends. Okay?"

She looks torn for a moment before nodding and wrapping me in a hug (a totally platonic one, I swear!), and gives me an uncertain grin.

"Is it still okay if I go to your show?" she asks hopefully.

I let out a disbelieving laugh. "We're friends, aren't we? Of course you can come. I'll even dedicate a song to you tonight. Just be at the Hollywood Bowl before ten p.m. or you'll miss us. Maybe Iris can give you a bird's eye view of the stage." I nudge her playfully on the shoulder. "I hear the acoustics are great higher up."

She returns with an elbow to my ribs, and smiles happily. "Sure thing."

"Well, I'll see you there then," I say, giving her another hug. "Now I gotta go outside and get ripped a new one by the Saminator."

Dulce giggles. "I'll make sure to pray for you."

And with a wave, I leave the room and make my way through the maze-like hallways of the convention center and back out into the sunlight. But this time, I've taken the first step to the Pokémon League.

I FEEL ALIVE!

**A/N: So, there it is. I hope you guys liked the way I depicted the battle scenes with my words. I hope even more that it didn't suck balls, but I'll leave that up to y'all to decide. What'd ya think of Hitmontop and Dragonair's evolutions? Please, tell me so I can either smoke a congratulatory joint or drink a pick-me-up forty-ounce of Mickey's. Either way, I'll have fun, so don't pull punches...or...words. Whatever!**


	8. Golden

**A/N: Wazap party people! I hope you're having a good time livin' life and being alive and junk. Sorry about the wait, everyone, but that son of a bitch called Life got in my way, and it took a riddiculous amount of time to beat that asshole back into submission, but I did it (for the time being) I'm thinking of doing another double-whammy and release two chappies back-to-back (again). So, in this chapter, I introduce a couple other bands, who will be Flash Cannon's competition, and cover their first gig at the Hollywood Bowl. I also properly introduce the rest of the Harding family, and stuff. So...yeah. In the words of a great plumber, here we go!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own shit. Big whoop, wanna fight about it?**

Eighth Session-Golden

Whoo, boy, I am psyched! In just a few short hours, Flash Cannon is playing their first gig, and it's got me on a bigger buzz than liquid sunshine, caffeine, and fifteen Four Lokos at the same time. I'm just totally, totally pumped!

Right now, me, Sam, Chuck, and Lu are heading over to the ancestral home of the Harding family, a quaint little house in a not-so-quaint neighborhood.

As I pull into the first little road of the eight-street track, right near where the Los Angeles River and the 710 Freeway meet, I can't help the feeling of nostalgia that nearly overwhelms me. This place always brings back memories whenever I come here, which is quite often. This is the Eden of my childhood and adolescence, my old stomping grounds where I broke waaay too many laws before the age of eighteen.

Within the confines of these streets, I smoked my first cigarette (I coughed like a bitch), toked my first blunt (it was love at first puff); I had my first taste of alcohol (as well as my first taste of alcohol-induced vomit; all in the same night, too!). There have been several unsolved acts of vandalism that I may or may not have had a hand in, including a van with three broken windows and a popped tire (hey, don't look at me like that; the guy who owned the van was the corner-store guy, and he made some pretty racist comments to me and my buddies. It was just payback), egged and T.P'ed houses (our little group regularly had egg and toilet-paper wars, and the loser had to clean up all the homes affected), as well as some very colorful and artsy graffiti that not lots of people appreciate (some people just have no love for the arts, y'know?).

Anyway, we pass a house that looks derelict, with weeds growing up waist-high, slightly obscuring the rusted porch fence and the broken-down porch swing that once rested there. A For-Sale sign hangs lopsidedly in the front, and the once-vibrant red paint is now brownish and peeling. I only know how it used to look because I lived in there once.

When grandad died, he left me the house, but some punk-ass beaurocrat somewhere thought,_ wait, this kid can't live in the house, so why don't we just take it, sell it, and keep the profits?_

Oh, they tried to do it for sure. After they outsmarted an eight-year-old with paperwork and a bit of blackmail, my house went on the market. But nobody would buy it for some reason. Could've been the little traps and things my friends and I used to sabotage any attempts at actually selling the domicile, but that's just my theory.

After a while, the real-estate agents simply stopped bringing people over, and it ended up unwanted, unused, and unattended, allowing the house to wind up in its present state. It kills me to see it like this, when I have so many memories of helping my grandpa and our Pokémon fix it up and make it look good. Grandad, with the help of his Pokés, had actually built this house from the ground up. It was his pride and joy.

God, I wish I had some money to buy it and restore it to former glory.

Anyway, I pull into the driveway of the house across the street from my own and honk out Enter Sandman to announce my arrival. In response, two women and two Pokémon rush out of the house. The older woman is Yuuki Harding, my surrogate mom since day one. With light brown hair, a lovely face, and dark blue eyes, she's the perfect picture of what a mother should be. Prancing regally next to her is her ever-faithful Delcatty, Precious, wearing her oddly-colored gray and blue fur proudly.

The other woman is Sakura Sado, or Sock, as we all call our sister. She's from Yuuki's first marriage, and is full-blooded Japanese, whereas Chuck and Sammie are only half. She has the same honey-brown hair color as her mom, but her eyes are hazel, probably from her father. Her own Pokémon is a graceful Glameow who never evolved because, in Sock's words, 'Purugly are totally not cute!'

Yuuki envelopes her children in great-big hugs as soon as they're out of the car, then rounds the car and gives me and Lu the same treatment. "We've missed you," she says, half-doting, half-scolding. "How come you never visit anymore?"

Rolling her eyes at me, Sam answers, "Ma, we visited last week, remember? Dad and Chuck got trashed and tried to have it out with Legs and Dizzy."

"That reminds me," Yuuki says, seeming to ignore the fact that her son and husband got tanked and attempted to beat up a pair of Fighting-type Pokémon the last time we popped in. "How are your ribs, Charlie?"

"Fine," Chuck states, raising his shirt to show a large, blotchy bruise on his left side, courtesy of Dizzy's Triple Kick. "Bella's been giving me some Healing Wish treatments, so they're coming along nicely. I'll be ready for the concert."

"Oh, yes, your little concert!" Sock states innocently. "Where was it again? The South Central community center?"

Sock knows just which buttons to push when Sam's concerned, I do declare. "Shut up, Tube Sock! Just 'cause you don't have a talented bone in your whole flabby body!" I never said that Sam didn't know which of Sock's buttons to push, either.

"You dirty little tramp!" Sock growls, and Sam's hand subtly goes to the little pouch strapped to her leg where she keeps her Pokéballs.

"I'm not a mirror, Sakura," Sam replies evenly, causing Sakura to get even angrier. I honestly don't know how I ever lived with them for ten years.

"Okay, you two," admonishes their mother, stepping in between what amounts to a vicious hurricane and an erupting volcano fearlessly. That's part of the reason I hold her in such high esteem. "Be calm, or I'll have to bring Ol' Hurty out of retirement."

All four of us unconsciously flinch and cover our backsides. Ol' Hurty was the paddle that Yuuki had used on her children when they misbehaved, and unfortunately for me, she considered me one of her children. Luckily, Ol' Hurty had been retired on Chuck's twelfth birthday, and the thought of O.H. making a comeback is even scarier than Sam.

"Come on in," she tells me, taking my arm and leading me toward the house. "I just finished a batch of those blueberry muffins you like."

"Sweet!" I crow, as Lu, Sam, Sock, and Chuck follow us through the door. Yuuki is the best cook in the world, hands down. If I could convince her to go on that Iron Chef challenge, she'd be reigning champ forever. Screw Rachel Rae and Martha Stewart; Yuuki Harding is simply the greatest.

My mouth instantly starts to water as the smell of freshly-baked muffins assaults my smell receptors, and behind me, I can hear Chuck actually moan in ecstasy when his own sniffer catches the scent.

The Harding home is how it's always been; if I go blind right now, I could probably tell you where any given item in this house is because the furniture placement, the silverware placement, the linen and towel placement, has always been the same probably since before I was born.

Sitting in the comfy-looking recliner chair is Dominic Harding, my best friends' father, and my dad in all but blood. Even the legal work checks out, I think. He cuts an imposing figure, and he's got a temper to match his fiery red hair, which has been showing more and more gray streaks in it as the years have gone by, although his emerald eyes are still as green as the day I was born.

"Hey there, stranger," he calls, standing up when he sees us. "Haven't seen you in awhile." I grin as we shake hands, then take a seat to allow Dom to hug his children. "You, too, Princess!" Sam squeals in surprised joy as he lifts her up and spins her around. "Where's Damien?"

Chuck and I very nearly wince, which Sock and Yuuki seem to pick up on instantly. "What happened, honey?" Yuuki clamps onto the information like a bulldog to a ham hock.

"Nothing," Sam growls, but Sock won't let sleeping dogs lie.

"Did Damien finally figure out that you were a no-good retard and dump you?" Before Sam can even start off on one of her various rampages, I jump into damage-control mode.

"Actually, I think it's time we start heading back to get ready for the show," I hurriedly interject after a brief and startlingly loud, "WHAT!" from Sam. Clamping my hand around her mouth and wrapping my other arm around her waist, I literally drag her out of the house. "It was great visiting you guys again, though. See ya later!"

We make it to the end of the porch before she decides to bite my palm. After yelping in pain, I send her a glare, which she returns with interest.

"What the hell was that!" she shouts at me.

"You know as well as I do that if I let you do what you were thinking of doing to Sock, you'd regret it later on," I shoot back at her. "I'm just trying to look out for your stupid ass. Thanks for the fucking rabies, by the way." I shake out my hand, hoping to alleviate the pain from the bite mark on my palm.

"That's what you get for putting your hand anywhere near my mouth," she mutters, though it's without the usual sting. "But thanks."

"Any time," I tell her sincerely. "Just next time, don't thank me by imitating a hungry Ursaring. Think you can drive the Awesomobile back to the pad? I still got one more stop to make."

Sam nods in understanding, eyes softening just a bit. "Just make sure not to be late for my first gig. And tell him hi for me."

Nodding, I release Hermes, who trills in excitement. "Time to make a little stop at Rose Hills, buddy," I tell him after hopping onto his back. Squawking an affirmative, Hermes spreads his wings and powers up into the sky.

"Don't kill Sock while I'm gone," I holler down at Sam, who gives me a slightly feral grin.

"Wouldn't dream of it!" is her faint reply, although I'm fairly certain she's had dreams of maiming her older sister on at least fifteen separate occasions. I did used to share a bed with her, remember.

Feeling the wind blowing through your hair while flying on a Pidgeot is a freakin' incredible experience, let me tell you. It's also an added bonus when we rise above the hazy brown pall of pollution over L.A. I swear, you never even think of it when you're on the ground, but when you can literally _see_ the shit that you're breathing in, it makes one wonder how the hell every person in Los Angeles County hasn't dropped dead of lung cancer by now.

Hermes flies us all the way to a lovely little hilly area, already knowing where exactly I want to go, and drops me down on a hill known as Twilight Terrace. I thank him and bring him back into his Pokéball for a rest.

If you don't know, Rose Hills is a cemetery. It's where my entire family for several generations has been laid to their earthly rest, and someday, I'll be feeding the worms and pushing up daisies right alongside them.

Thankfully, there's nobody in sight; I don't really like it when somebody intrudes on me during a time when I don't want to be bothered.

Anyway, I move up the hill, past a low-slung sycamore tree and drop down onto the grass near a headstone shaped like a Lucario, which stands next to one in the likeness of an Espeon. Set into the Lucario headstone are eight badges that look old and slightly tarnished, and a couple ribbons as well.

Leaning against the headstone, I pat the ground below it and smile up at the sky. "Hey, Gramps. It's been awhile, huh?" I pull out a small packet of my favorite herb and, using a scrap of paper as surface, start breaking it down.

"Sorry I didn't come visit on your birthday, but it's been pretty hectic. Sammie broke up with her boyfriend, and a few weeks later joined Flash Moon. We had to rename it 'cause of her explosive attitude. We're now Flash Cannon. She says hi, by the way."

Once the process of separating the leaves and buds from the stems is complete, I pull out a small pack of joint wraps and proceed to build a weed cigarette. "We're gonna be going on a little cross-country trip, like the one we took, to get into the Battle of the Bands. I'm also gonna be taking the Gym Challenge; I already got the Halo Badge from Dulce."

I pull out the little winged badge from my pocket and compare it to the Halo Badge of old. Other than the obvious difference of being old and dull, Grandad's Halo Badge has wings that look more like a Salamence's than a Dragonair's, and the ring of light is gold instead of the silver of mine.

Letting out a short laugh, I mutter, "Looks like I'll be taking after you, old man." Sparking up the joint in my mouth and blowing the heady smoke heavenward, I add, "Don't worry. I'll make you proud."

I spend the rest of my afternoon talking to Gramps and smoking weed. I know it sounds stupid, but it's really therapeutic for my mental well-being. Although to be fair, to many, laughing and conversating with a dead dude is a high indicator of mental instability.

But who's to say that I ain't insane?

A couple hours later, I'm back at the apartment, getting ready for the show. First to go on (after the underwear, of course) are my lucky jeans. A rip just above my knee and another on the opposite shin signifies rollerblading accidents, and a torn-to-shit back pocket and another rip just below the pocket shows where a wallet saved my ass (literally) from roadburn after an SUV sent me for a short flight and a shorter skid on the road (long story, you don't wanna know). These jeans, which are a sort of faded cerulean color, have character, which is more than one can say about those pre-ripped and -faded store-bought pants, and it's no wonder why these are my lucky jeans. Holding them up is a black leather belt with three rows of little steel pyramids running its length. The shoes I choose are a pair of well-worn combat boots that I've had for about four years (my feet stopped growing when I was, like, fourteen at an even size ten and a half), and I slip those on over some red and green toe socks (what? They're comfy).

Next on is a black t-shirt with the late, great Bob Marley's visage on it, shaded in Rasta colors. Below his face is a quote from his _Redemption Song_: "Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery; none but ourselves can free our minds." Truer words were never spoken by a more incredible man. Except, of course, my Grandad's famous quote to me when I asked him for advice on girls when I was six: "Remember, kid: When you're unwrapping Venus, wrap up your penis." I swear to God, those were his exact words.

Over that comes Grandad's old field blouse, which saw him through the storming of the beaches of Normandy on that fateful day in France, and through the rest of the Second World War. It's tattered and frayed, but it's something that I'll wear until the last thread falls off. This jacket has more pockets sewn into it by both of us than I can count, and it's one of the only physical things I've got left of him.

After accessorizing (hey, a guy can accessorize too {wow, that sounded _so_ gay}), I make my way into the living room. Sam's already sitting on the sectional, and I've gotta say, she looks good. She's wearing a pair of black pipecleaner jeans that show off her toned hips and legs nicely, which are held up by a belt similar to mine, except hers is purple instead of black, and where my steel pyramids are shiny and silvery, hers are matte black. A dark violet v-neck peeks out from under a half-zipped, dark gray hoodie, which sports the Rastafarian prophet's face in profile as he looks up at the black-and-white pot leaf embroidered on her right shoulder (three guesses who got her that). As I get closer, I can pick out the lovely smell of oranges and pomegranates, which Sam always smells like, showered or not. It's like her unofficial scent, just like mine is weed and awesomeness.

"Lookin' good," I compliment her as I hop over the back of the sofa and land heavily on the cushion. The impact causes her to shift on the couch and lean into me, and I grin, slinging an arm around her. "If you wanted to get close to me, all you had to do was ask."

Rolling her eyes, but smiling nonetheless, Sam nudges me in the ribs with her bony elbow. "Looks like we had the same brainwave with the Bob-meister," she comments after getting a glance at my shirt.

"Imitation is the highest form of flattery, I'm told," I say, "and I'm flattered you've chosen to imitate me, Sammie." This time her elbow gives me more than a nudge in the ribs, and I yelp in pain, once again, because of Sam.

"You know, you could tone it down on the physical abuse," I tell her reproachfully, rubbing my bruised ribs.

"I know I could," she quips with a sweet smile. "But I won't." She checks the wide-banded watch on her left wrist, its quartz face showing the time to be five-fourteen in the afternoon. "Chuck! Hurry your girly-ass up or we'll be late!"

From down the hallway comes Chuck reply of, "Hold your Ponyta! I'll be out in a bit." A bit turns out to be roughly fifteen minutes, and when he's done primping, Chuck walks out looking like one of those models from Abercrombie and Fitch.

"Dude, you look like a freakin' idiot," I inform him. He pouts and starts swearing, and I call out for Lu with my mind. He's at my shoulder in an instant; it shouldn't surprise me, since he does it every single damn day, but he never fails to sneak up on me and nearly make me jump outta my skin in fright.

He smirks after reading my surface thoughts. Just 'cause you're a little bitch, he says, smirk turning into a mocking grin.

I take a leaf from Sam's book and elbow him in the gut, making him double over. "Who's the bitch now, cock-sucker?" I ask him. "C'mon, or we'll be late."

The Hollywood Bowl is an amphitheater in the Hollywood area of L.A. that's been used for a long time, primarily for musical performances. It's known mostly for the distinctive set of concentric arches that make up its band shell, and for the awesome backdrop of the Hollywood Hills and the always classy Hollywood sign. The 'Bowl' part of the name comes from the concave hillside that the amphitheater's carved into.

Dozens of well-known artists-from Aretha Franklin to the Beatles-have graced its stage, and now, it's my turn. I've got some big-ass shoes to fill, but nobody ever said that this would be a cake-walk.

It's actually super-lucky that we got the opportunity to play this awesome venue. After we sent the required two hundred dollar entrance fee, the Battle of the Bands people sent us a medium-sized laminated piece of paper that we're supposed to have stamped after every successful set is played at BoB-approved venues. The only problem was that all the BoB-approved venues were all booked up with prospective bands looking to do the same thing we're trying to do.

So, we ended up at one of the venues, literally begging on our hands and knees for an extra spot when an executive from the company that funds and holds the Battle of the Bands competition showed up and asked to hear our sound.

Now, a good band would have a CD or something they've recorded. Us? We don't have anything to record with, so we whipped out our instruments (Chris had to improvise on buckets and things), and gave him a taste of what we're all about.

The fella was so impressed that he told us about a secret extra venue in California at none other than the Hollywood Bowl, where bands chosen by executives of the company would play their sets and, lo and behold, we got chosen by an executive to play at the motherfuckin' Hollywood Bowl!

When we arrive, it's still pretty early, but stage-managers and the guys that set up all the electrical junk are running around at top speeds carrying clipboards and amps. Chris, Damien, and Beth are already there, and I'm impressed that Sam barely spares Beth a glare before turning towards the buffet table and picks herself out a beer. A few other bands are there as well, and we go and make our way over to introduce ourselves to them.

"Hey there," I say to a group of pretty girls, acting as the official voice of the band (Sam gives a snort of what I can only describe as approval from within the mouth of her bottle). "Uh, since you're not running around like the world's ending, I'm guessing that you're one of the bands playing?" When one of them, a pretty brunette with a friendly smile and a light complexion, nods, I continue. "Cool! We're Flash Cannon, from South Central. That's Damien Claybourne, Chris Ulrich, Chuck and Sammie Harding, and I'm Remy Yucatan."

As it happens, the girls form a band called Atomic Chronic, which is a pretty cool name, to be honest. The brunette, Cynthia Matheson, is their singer and bassist. Xiaoyu Lingshen, a Chinese chick with bad-ass green eyes and black hair set in cloth-covered buns, plays a mean lead guitar. Nikkita Wilcox, who, believe it or not, used to be in an early incarnation of Damien's old band, can bang the drums almost as well as Chris can. Finally, there's Jackie Rojas, a Hispanic girl with a helluva talent when it comes to the violin.

While we make small talk with Atomic Chronic, which plays out of Paramount, California, I see something that doesn't quite make sense.

Three older gentlemen, accompanied by a guy who can't be older than seventeen show up. The age difference isn't what's strange though; I actually recognize the three forty-something-year-olds as one of the greatest bands in history (in my opinion, anyway).

As a child, I would listen to Iron Buizel on the radio while me and Gramps read or just chilled out. When I was about ten years old, living with the Hardings for two years by then, the lead guitarist of Iron Buizel died, and the band fell into the shadows.

What the hell are they doing here? And with a kid? Is he supposed to be the legendary guitarist, Bleed, who made me want to become a musician in the first place? I head over there almost in a trance and stop short of them.

I already know most of them: There's Ash, drummer to the band, with dark hair that looks like it was styled by an electric shock and a slightly dazed expression, which is the norm for Ash. Then there's Burger Pitt, with long, curly blonde hair and a lot more belly than I remember; he's the bassist, and absolutely loves to smash his bass after each performance, or at least he used to. Finally, there's Derek Jupiter, the cocky British lead singer with wavy black hair down his back.

"Holy crap, you're Iron Buizel." The words just pop out of my mouth before I can come up with a better opening line.

"Um, yeah," says the kid. "Are you in one of the other bands?"

"Yeah, I reply, looking him over. He's got a mop of medium-brown hair and a guitar case. I'm not gonna judge until I've heard him play, but I don't think anyone could ever take the place of the famous Bleed, guitarist extraordinaire. "Remy Yucatan, of Flash Cannon over there." I point to where the others are still conversing with Atomic Chronic.

"Cool," replies the boy. "I'm Tripp Campbell, the new guitarist. And I'm guessing you already know Ash, Burger, and Derek."

After I get acquainted with the band, I realize that they're just a bunch of kids themselves, and that Tripp might very well be good for the band. Hell, they've already got a spot in one of the secret venues, so that's going good.

After Atomic Chronic and Iron Buizel have finished their sets (both of which were incredibly awesome), the stage manager rushes us out onto the stage. As the techies who've done the sound checks drop away into the backstage area, we're left alone in front of approximately seventeen thousand people.

I force myself not to gulp nervously and remember that, as lead vocalist, I get to address these fine folks for the band. I sit down at the set of keyboards the stage people were so kind to put onstage for me and pull the microphone stand over to where it'll be most comfortable for me to sing into.

"Hey everyone, we're Flash Cannon, I'm Remy, and, uh, this is our first song called Enterlude." I glance quickly at Sam, who gives me the thumbs up, and I can't help but be struck by the irony; I'm supposed to be encouraging _her_, not the other way around.

And so, heart thundering in my ears like a heard of buffalo, I set my fingers to the keyboard and start our set off. The first song is a short one, with a handful of chords or so, but I like it (I should; I came up with it).

_We hope you enjoy your stay_

_It's good to have you with us, even if it's just for the day_

_We hope you enjoy your stay_

_Outside, the sun is shining; seems like heaven ain't far away_

_It's good to have you with us..._

_...even if it's just for the day_

I play a short, sweet little melody that finishes off the song, wondering why the hell I was worried in the first place, then immediately head into the next one by striking the highest C note on the keyboard a few times before switching the lower board to the organ setting and setting a little background noise to my voice and the piano keyboard.

_When there's nowhere else to run,_

_Is there room for one more son?_

_One more son?_

_If you can't hold on, if you can't hold on_

_Hold on_

Chris' base drum sets the tempo a little faster than the first few bars, followed by Damien's guitar and the snares and high-hats, which build into a crescendo that slams the song into full rock mode with Sam and Chuck thundering in with it. Since most of the piano parts to this song are at the beginning and end, I kick the bench back, grab up the mic in front of me, and jam.

_I wanna stand up, I wanna let go_

_You know, you know. Oh, you don't? That's okay_

_I wanna shine on in the hearts of men,_

_I wanna mean it from the back of my broken head._

_Another headaches; another heart breaks,_

_I'm so much older than I can take_

_And my affection, well it comes and goes;  
I need direction to perfection._

_No, no, no, no, help me out,_

_Yeah, you know you gotta help me out._

_Yeah, oh don't you put me on the back-burner,_

_You know you gotta help me out._

_And when there's nowhere else to run,_

_Is there room for one more son._

_These changes ain't changin' me;_

_The cold-hearted boy I used to be._

_Yeah, you know you gotta help me out,_

_Yeah, oh don't you put me on the back-burner,_

_You're gonna bring yourself down,_

_Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down,_

_Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down,_

_Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down._

After the last word leaves my mouth, all the instruments fall out except for Chuck's bass, which strums the same note for awhile, then I start up again:

_I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier, _

Then Damien joins his voice with mine as I point to him for his cue:

_I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier,_

Sam's next, adding her own pretty pipes to the sound while my finger gives her the mark to start:

_I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier,_

After I give Chuck his cue, I bring up a bit of that soul we're talking about on the organ keyboard while Chris lays down the beat.

_I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier;_

Once the others've got their voices and instruments flowing along, I hop down into the crowd in front of Dulce and ask, "What about you?" before shoving the mic under her nose, and surprisingly, she goes along with it with a grin:

_I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier;_

"And you?" I ask a guy with spiked hair and a leather jacket nearby. He looks startled for a moment, but plays his part well:

_I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier;_

Soon, I've got the whole crowd singing along, and my hearbeat's pounding with excitement instead of nerves now.

_I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier;_

_I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier;_

Finally, I throw my voice back into the fray with a bit more enthusiasm than necessary; my voice breaks a bit, but I make up for it by holding the last note for a measure or two.

_I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier!_

Chris drops into a mini-drum solo before we all toss our music into the blender and set it on 'AWESOME!'

_Yeah, you know you gotta help me out,_

_Yeah, oh don't you put me on the back-burner,_

_You know you gotta help me out._

_Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down,_

_Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down,_

_Yeah, so don't you put me on the back-burner,_

_You're gonna bring yourself down,_

_Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down;_

_Yeah, you're gonna bring yourself down._

_Over and in, last call for sin._

_When everyone's lost, the battle is won_

_With all these things that I've done_

_If you can't hold on, if you can't hold on..._

As I finish up on the piano and vocals, Sam ends the song with a short, melodic guitar piece while the crowd goes spare, clapping and whistling and generally making noises of approval.

"Thanks, for that, y'all," I say into the mic as the applause dies down. "That last song was called All These Things That I've Done. And now this next song..." At this, Chris sets up a beat "...we're gonna give you a song called Dance, Dance!" As the words leave my mouth, Chuck's bass starts to flesh out the song, and as Chris' new tambourine doo-hicky starts its jingling, I add my own voice in.

_She said she's no good with words but I'm worse_

_Barely stuttered out a joke of a romantic stuck to my tongue_

Now, Damien starts up on his guitar, playing an inverted arpeggiated chord that Sam came up with in an early practice.

_Weighed down with words too overdramatic_

_Tonight it's "It can't get much worse" VS "No one should ever feel like"_

The song changes, going from a subtle, low-keyed tune to full on rock as Sam adds the final touch to the melody.

_I'm two-quarters of a heart down_

_And I don't wanna forget how your voice sounds_

_These words are all I have, so I'll write them_

_So you need them just to survive_

There's brief pause where the sounds of the crowd can be heard, cheering, then . . .

_Dance, dance_

_We're falling apart to half-time_

_Dance, dance_

_And these are the lives you'd love to lead_

_Dance, this is the way they'd love if they knew_

_How misery loves me_

_You always fold just before you're found out_

_Drink up it's last call last resort, but only the first mistake_

_And now_

_I'm two-quarters of a heart down_

_And I don't wanna forget how your voice sounds_

_These words are all I have so I'll write them_

_So you need them just to get by_

Everyone except Chris stops playing and starts clapping to the beat of the drum as I sing.

_Why don't you show me the little bit of spine_

_You've been saving for his mattress, love_

As I sing this, I latch the mic back into the stand and draw a little heart in the air with my index fingers, giving a small grin to Dulce in the audience before we all explode back into musical awesomeness.

_Dance, dance_

_We're falling apart to half-time_

_Dance, dance_

_And these are the lives you'd love to lead_

_Dance, this is the way they'd love if they knew_

_How misery loves me_

Damien and Sam start off into their solos as I bob my head to the beat, my hair flying and catching in the light as Chuck looses a riff on his bass.

_Why don't you show me the little bit of spine_

_You've been saving for his mattress_

_I only want sympathy in the form of you_

_Crawling into bed with me_

Damien and Chuck stop playing for a moment while Sam holds her last note and Chris stays true to the beat of the drums before we all fall back into the final chorus of the song.

_Dance, dance_

_We're falling apart to half-time_

_Dance, dance_

_And these are the lives you'd love to lead_

_Dance, this is the way they'd love_

_Dance, this is the way they'd love_

_Dance, this is the way they'd love_

_If they knew how misery loved me_

The lead and secondary guitars drop out again while Chuck and Chris stay the course, until Sam comes back in with her inverted arpeggio as we finish off the song.

_Dance, dance_

_Dance, dance_

_Dance, dance_

_Dance, dance_

By now, the crowd's entirely on our side at this point, and I can't help but worry that my grin my break my face in half as I drop back onto the piano bench and hook the mic back up. "Here's the second part of Enterlude, called Exitlude. It's our last song of the night, appropriately enough."

And then, I play a few chords while instantly adding my voice.

_Progressively, we all defend the roll we play._

_Regrettably, the time's come to send you on your way._

_We've seen it all: bonfires of trust and flash floods of pain._

_It doesn't really matter; don't you worry, it'll all work out._

At this point, Chris gently enters the song with his snares and a bit of a musical triangle.

_No it doesn't really matter; don't you worry wonderin' what it's all about._

Then, Chuck and Damien come in with their own soft, slow pieces while the guys supplement my vocals with their own, creating a low, deep harmony.

_We hope you enjoyed your stay;_

_It's good to have you with us, even if it's just for the day._

_We hope you enjoyed your stay;_

_Outside the son is shining, it seems like heaven ain't far away._

_It's good to have you with us..._

There's a brief pause in the other instruments while I play a quick octave riff on the piano before keeping my voice low as I continue to sing.

_...even if it's just for the day_

I go off into the same little melody I played during Enterlude, except for the second repeat of it, Sam comes in with her own solo that compliments the piano piece quite well, if I do say so myself. Finally, as with all things, the song begins to come to an end, and we play short bursts on all of our instruments while Sam takes over the vocals.

_It's good to have you with us, even if it's just for the day,_

_Outside the son is shining, it seems like heaven ain't far away._

_It's good to have you with us, even if it's just for the day,_

_Outside the son is shining, it seems like heaven ain't far away._

As the last notes of the song fade and the crowd cheers, Sam and I sing the last line in tandem.

_...It seems like heaven ain't far away._

We let the cheers wash over us as we troop off the stage, high-fives being passed out liberally amongst all the bands. To be honest, this all feels incredibly surreal, and I'm almost scared that I'll wake up and this'll all be one really trippy dream.

Sam grins as she flies at me, arms outstretched. I consider for a moment just moving out of the way, but that would mean incredible pain on my part, so I oblige her, giving her a big hug. She squeezes the life out of me as she laughs happily.

"That was totally _awesome_!" she whispers excitedly in my ear. "I can't believe that they liked us so much."

"What's not to like?" I shoot her a rhetorical. "We're the shit, and they just got a big whiff. This is really gonna happen. We're really gonna do this."

Sam releases me, and Chuck claps me on the back. "I'm freakin' psyched, bro! Do you know how much tail I'm gonna get?"

"None?" Sam supplies with a smirk. He replies with a rude hand gesture.

"Screw you, sister dear," he growls. "I wasn't even talking to you."

"Aw, you know you love me, Chucky," Sam replies sweetly before grabbing my arm and pulling me along with her. "C'mon, let's go get some free beers, huh?"

Those two words go very well together in my mind. 'Free' means that I don't need to waste money, and 'beer' means the sweet nectar of the gods. Together, they sing a harmony more lovely than any I could come up with, and that's exactly what I'm hearing right now.

"Let's get fecked up, then!" I say happily, speeding up so I'm the one pulling her along. Tonight's a night for celebration, and Flash Cannon's gonna live it up!

**A/N: Woooo! Flash Cannon's first gig at the Hollywood Bowl, mothafuckas! Tell me if you like it or hate it so that I can adjust whatever I'll do for the Vegas gig. Oh, which reminds me: HappyHereford, thanks once again for the review, and a big first-review thanks to fireheart15, although I'm pretty sure this ain't one of the best fanfics on the site. If you wanna read something good, look up PKM Rangers: Rise of the Dark Gems. I totally spaced on who the author is, but it's DY-NO-MITE! HappyHereford's got some pretty good one-shots as well. Anyways, now that I'm done with that, I can tell you a bit about the next chapter. Remy's gonna wake up wearing a pair of black panties and half a pair of handcuffs on his wrist with no recollection of the night before in a hotel in Las Vegas. I'll do a sort of Hangover-esque kinda thing next chappie in honor of Hangover 2 (can I get a woot-woot? No? okay then). It'll be told in 3rd-person writing style, from the various band-members' POVs. Shennanigans will ensue. That's all you'll get out of me unless you start the waterboarding...NO, I was just kidding! AHHHHH!**


	9. Thnks Fr The Mmrs

**A/N: Okay, so here's the Hangover chapter of Flash Cannon, so I won't waste words you probably aren't even reading and get on with it already. Read!**

**Disclaimer: This is the last disclaimer I'm doing for this fanfiction. I don't own shit. Seriously. It's all just an illusion of our human minds that we actually own anything. Take for example, the shaker full of crushed red peppers near my computer desk (which doubles as my meal table). Supposedly I own those little pepper flakes, but as soon as they enter my mouth, they go through a crucible of twists and turns through my gastro-intestinal system before being shot out of my anal sphincter and into the toilet, which then goes through the gauntlet to the waste treatment facility, where shit happens...literally. So, I have proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt that nobody owns shit. Wow, my disclaimer was longer than my author's note.**

Ninth Session-Thnks Fr The Mmrs

Ooooohhh, my head!

The throbbing in my skull hurts like a mother, but it's nothing compared to the retina-searing poke in the eyes I get from the sun streaming through the window. My mouth tastes like cotton. I can't think straight. My limbs feel like they're made of thousand-pound marshmallows. Worst of all, though, my memory of why I'm hung-over is absolutely kaput.

I lift my heavy-ass arm to rub my burning eyes and something metal clinks as I move. I open my painful eyes again and find half of a pair of handcuffs circling my wrist like a fashion accessory.

_What_?

I start to move my legs so I can go find something to fill my empty stomach with when I notice that I'm mostly naked except for a pair of black panties and random (and mostly dirty-minded) things drawn on my skin in black Sharpie. What in the name of all that is Lucha did I do last night?

Before I can contemplate further, my insides give a great, horrible lurch and I have to sprint to the bathroom so I can throw up in the great porcelain bowl we all worship after a night of binge drinking.

As I void the contents of my stomach, I cycle through the memories I _do_ have of yesterday. We'd celebrated with the other bands after the Hollywood Bowl show, then Chris had the idea to head over to Vegas so we could get ready for the show there and the Gym battle.

We'd started drinking at the Bowl, and the last thing I remember is the big 'Welcome To Las Vegas' sign as we passed it in the van.

After I find the pants I wore yesterday and pull out my phone, I make a quick call to Chuck and move to the window and look out at the great Vegas skyline under sunlight.

I hear the ringback Chuck uses (the original Power Rangers theme song, which is awesome) for a few seconds before he picks up. "Herro?" When he answers like that, odds are he'd either eating or drinking something.

"Dude, what the fuck happened last night?"

There's a moment of silence before Chuck, as well as several other voices in the background, burst into laughter. "Man, you were soooo fucked up yesterday, it was almost not funny. But then you had to call and say that."

There's a scuffling sound on the phone, and suddenly the voice on the other line belongs to none other than Beth. "Hey, Remy! Have you thrown up yet?"

"Yes, Beth," I reply through gritted teeth. "I have, indeed thrown up. Now could somebody possibly tell me exactly _how_ I got drunk enough to have to barf the next morning?"

"It's two in the afternoon, actually," a voice I recognize as Sam's replies in a tone that lets me know for a fact that she's grinning. "But I'm pretty sure we can piece it together for you. Get your naked ass ready and come down to the McDonalds across the street."

Grumbling, I snap the phone shut, toss it onto the bed, and shower up, washing the smells of B.O., smoke, booze, and-pomegranate?-off my body, along with the filthy graffiti someone had the audacity to write on me. Can you believe somebody actually drew on my dick to make it look like a space shuttle? After spending about ten minutes trying to brush and rinse the taste of alcohol-induced vomit from my mouth, I get dressed and take the elevator down to the ground floor and leave the hotel. I glance back and find that I've been sleeping the day away at the Luxor; you know the one that looks like a big black pyramid with the light at the top that you can see from, like, Fresno.

Shaking my head, I jaywalk across the street, flipping the assholes that honk at me the bird as I go. Walking into the McDonalds, I see the band and Beth waving me over to their table and flip them the bird, too.

When I'm done ordering half the menu, I walk over, pull a chair up to the table, and fall onto the seat heavily.

"Well, hello there, Sleeping Ugly," Sam says with a grin, tossing a fry at me. I catch it in my mouth and eat the shit out of it, savoring the taste of deep-fried potato and salt. "You sure had a rough night, huh?"

"Tell me about it," I say without a hint of the usual sarcasm that normally accompanies that statement. "What did I do?"

"Okay, how much do you remember?" asks Chris, who's at least trying to be helpful. "We can start from there."

"I remember coming to Vegas. That's it." Chuck whistles, apparently impressed.

"Damn," mutters Damien around a mouthful of Big Mac. "You missed, like, _all_ the good parts, then." He finished chewing and rubbed his stubbly chin. "Well, I guess the best place to start is after we checked in at the hotel. We split up, and you, I, Chuck, and Beth went for the Kris Angel show..."

Flash Cannon in Vegas, Part 1

Damien Claybourne was feeling pretty good. He'd recently finished playing to a large crowd in the Hollywood Bowl to much applause and cheers, and there were seven more of those to carry out across the country. The future was looking pretty bright.

He, his new girlfriend, Beth, and his bandmates, Remy and Chuck, were in the Luxor, watching Kris Angel mindfreak the fuck out of a whole crowd of people.

"Now, watch," Kris was saying up onstage, "as I levitate off the ground using nothing but the power of my mind..." As Kris lifted off the floor, Remy polished off his fifth drink since they'd gotten there and stood up.

"There's wires!" yelled Remy. He'd started drinking almost immediately after they'd gotten off stage and hadn't shown any signs of slowing down. He had shown signs, however, that he was getting pretty drunk. "You faker! Mindfreak this!"

Remy hopped up on the table they were sitting at and grabbed his crotch, thrusting it toward Kris Angel.

"Uh, could we get that guy out of here?" Kris asked someone as his face colored in embarrassment, and immediately, several bouncers converged on their position.

"Now watch..." Remy said in a fairly good imitation of Kris, "as I levitate off the ground using nothing but the power of my awesomeness!" And then he jumped off the table.

Damien was surprised when a blue glow enveloped Remy, and he floated over the heads of the bouncers, pretending to tap-dance on their heads as he went. The crowd gasped, then started cheering. Damien, who was understandably bewildered, turned to Chuck for an explanation.

"He's an aura-user," Chuck said with a grin as he watched Kris' gob smacked face and the bouncers as they tried to catch Remy. "His whole family, all the way back to George Washington, has been able to manipulate aura. It's why they've all had Lucario."

Damien was astounded that he knew someone who was descended from one of the Founding Fathers.

At this point, Remy was flying around Kris' head onstage, cackling like a mad witch as he pelted the poor performer with beer nuts he'd somehow acquired. "You like this, Mindfreak? It's called Mindfucking! I'm Mindfucking you right now!"

After about ten minutes of this, the doors to the room burst open and about ten cops wearing the Las Vegas Police Department badge came in, all of them wielding Pokéballs and, in one case, a Taser gun.

"Come down with your hands in the air, sir," exclaimed the leader, "or we will have to force you down."

Remy landed on the table he'd started on and struck a pose. "You'll never take me alive, bitches!"

"Very well, then," the officer stated. "You've given us no choice. Go, Arcanine!" As the policeman released the dog-like Pokémon, the others did the same, so that there was a whole phalanx of Legendary Pokémon standing stock-still, ready to apprehend the suspect.

"Remy," Damien said slowly. "Do not do what I think you're going to do." He'd seen Remy's hand inch down toward the pocket he kept his Arcanine's Pokéball in. "If you do, then I'll be forced to help you out, and Chuck and Beth will be forced into this, too."

"Well, then," Remy said, glancing down at Damien before taking the mixed drink in front of him and down it, "what the hell are we waiting for? Rover, show 'em what a _real_ Arcanine looks like!"

The ball flew through the air, and Rover the Arcanine burst out in all his happy-go-lucky glory. He barked happily, tongue lolling out of the left side of his mouth as he pounced on Remy, knocking him clear off the table and coating him in a thick layer of gooey saliva.

"Ah, cut it out, Rover!" Remy shouted, fending the dog away. "Get out there and use Smokescreen!"

Rover barked an affirmative, then spewed forth a thick cloud of dark smoke.

"Now let's get the hell outta here!" Remy shouted, grabbing Chuck's collar and booking it through the fire exit just as the sprinklers went on, activated by the massive quantity of smoke in the air.

Damien clutched Beth's hand and they were off, following them as they wove through the crowds on the Strip, crashing into people and muttering hurried apologies as they went. Behind them, shouts from the police to "Stop! In the name of the law!" echoed through their ears.

Suddenly, Remy halted, pushing Chuck forward, and as Damien started to slow down, he yelled, "Hurry up and get the hell out of here." A slow grin spread across Remy's face as Damien and Beth passed him. "I'll take care of the Grumpigs."

They caught up to Chuck and turned into a side-alley. As they rounded the corner, Damien stopped and looked back to see Remy and Rover facing down at least a dozen cops. Remy pointed toward the oncoming force and shouted, "Rover, Earthquake!"

Damien sped down the alley as the ground beneath him shook back and forth, and knew, although he could only see Remy's back, that his bandmate had grinned as he called the order to Rover. Shaking his head with a smile of his own, Damien hurried to catch up to the other two.

"...and so that's about when we lost you," Damien finishes his part of the story with a chuckle. "It was about ten forty-six by then."

I sort of remember something like that happening. For sure I remember grinning as I brought down the thunder on those bastard cops. Well, actually, I brought up the ground, but that's just needless semantics.

"Okay, that sounds a lot like something I'd do," I concede. "I think I remember going into a bar after that. Anyone remember me in a bar?"

Chris clears his throat after taking a bite of his Double Quarter-Pounder. "That's where you found me. I'd been in there for awhile playing some pool and winning some cash from idiots since we'd gotten to Vegas..."

Flash Cannon in Vegas, Part 2

In a seedy bar off the Strip, Christian Ulrich eased the cue stick forward, nudging the cue ball in just the right direction to send the eight-ball rolling obediently into the side pocket, ending the latest in a series of victorious games of pool. He allowed a small smile to spread across his bearded face as his opponent cursed and ranted how Chris was cheating before he hardened his expression into one of anger. He was good at acting.

"Are you calling me a liar, Tiny?" he demanded, stepping up close and leaning down to stare into the significantly smaller man's eyes, which immediately flooded with unease and a bit of fear.

"Uh...n-no, buddy," replied the man, gulping audibly. "H-here's the money," he reached into his wallet and gave Chris a twenty. And with that, he was gone, out the door faster than greased lightning.

Before the door even closed all the way, someone ran into the bar, wearing a beat-up army jacket and a mop of gray hair. Remy.

He glanced around and his eyes found Chris. "Chris! What's up, man?" He started walking toward the pool table.

"Just won twenty bucks," replied Chris, waving the bill around gleefully. "You shoulda seen the guy's face."

"Was he the one that just ran out the door?" Remy asked. Chris nodded, and Remy chuckled. "Saw it. He looked like he was about to shit himself. What'd you do to him?"

"Nothin'," Chris said innocently, motioning to the bar. "C'mon, I'll get ya a drink."

For about an hour, the two of them drank and played pool, winning a couple more games in order to finance their binge. Finally, Remy tripped on a bar stool as he was bringing the next round back to the table and spilled his drinks on a very well-dressed man with a neatly-trimmed beard, quick, dark eyes, and a razor-straight part in his black, oiled hair.

The man shucked his overcoat and suit jacket and snapped his fingers, which had many heavily bejeweled rings on them. Two men rushed forward, one grabbing the articles of clothing while the other presented the man with the same type of clothing.

Remy stood up and immediately started apologizing. "Oh, man, sorry about that. I tripped on the barstool. I can pay for dry-cleaning or something..."

"You've just made your last mistake," the man said slowly as he turned to face Remy. Chris thought that there was a brief glint of recognition in the man's eye, but he chalked it up to all the drinks he'd had that night.

"Dude, I said I'm sorry," Remy said, bristling indignantly, and Chris gave a mental groan. Remy was one of the nicest guys he knew, but when push came to shove, Remy was the one who did the pushing _and_ the shoving. This wouldn't end well, that was for sure.

"Do you know who I am?" the man asked menacingly, which was lent credence by the large, muscled men who surrounded him.

"Uh, someone who can't take an apology well?" Remy guessed and barely ducked under the knife the man suddenly hurled at his jugular. He stared, unbelievingly, at the small, triangular knife that had lodged itself in the wall behind him before turning to glare at the guy. "Hey, what the fuck!"

The man showed his hands, which had an identical knife between each fingers. "I'm Johnny Tightlips, the owner of this fine establishment, as well as the local mafia head. I tell you this only because I'm about to kill you and your friend here."

Remy gave a mocking smirk. "Oh, so just 'cause you're a mob boss, you think you can take me on? I was just assaulted by, like, twenty cops. They couldn't touch me. Are you gonna do what a bunch of cops couldn't?"

"The police are a bunch of incompetents," Johnny Tightlips replied curtly, to which Remy gave a genuine laugh.

"Well, at least we can agree on something," he chuckled before sobering up. "So, wanna have a go, then?"

He moved before Johnny, Chris, or Johnny's bodyguard's could react: A palm strike to the nerve bundle on Johnny's upper left arm caused the knives in his left hand to clatter to the floor while a kick to his right elbow did the same to those knives.

Johnny blinked and almost missed the elbow aimed at his head. He ducked under it and grabbed Remy's arm, heaving the younger man over his shoulder and sending him careening towards the heavy oak table behind him.

Remy growled, got his feet under him, and landed on the table fairly gracefully, kicking a half-filled glass of cognac into Johnny's face before tackling him to the ground. Suddenly, Remy felt his opponent's arms snake around his neck in a way that only he and his ancestors should know called the Washington Warp, passed down through the generations just like aura wielding and their Lucario partners. It was just about impossible to break once locked in and pretty painful to the victim. Chris should know; he'd challenged his bandmate to a fight once to see who the strongest person in the band was and the gray-haired little bastard caught Chris in that devil of a submission. Chris tapped out two seconds after Remy'd linked his arms just under Chris' chin and yanked up, then to the left.

Chris watched as Remy performed the only known tactic for warding off the Washington Warp: he started tickling Johnny Tightlips on his ribs and armpits as though his life were depending on it. Which it kind of was. Johnny began giggling hysterically, his arms loosening enough for Remy to shove him off with his shoulders before hopping back to his feet and push-kicking the mobster into a table.

They both stood, panting and glaring at each other, and Remy asked, "Where'd you learn the Washington Warp?"

The mafia boss chuckled darkly. "Wouldn't you like to know?" This caused Remy to clench his fists angrily, but then smirked.

"How 'bout if I destroy your ass in a Pokémon battle, you give me an answer?" he said, pulling out a miniaturized Pokéball and waving it around enticingly.

"And if I win?"

"I'll let you live," Remy intoned in a deep voice, before bursting out laughing. "Sorry, I'm drunk. But seriously, I guess anything you want as long as it doesn't involve anything remotely sexual or illegal."

Johnny thought about it for a second, then seemed to make up his mind. "Deal. It will have to be a one-on-one battle, since I only have one Pokémon at my disposal, and we will have to take this battle outside, since I don't want any more damage done to my bar."

"Fine with me," Remy replied, and Chris knew for certain that he'd use Lu. And, true to his prediction, as soon as they were all outside in the small alley behind the bar, Remy gave a high-pitched whistle, and the Lucario whom Chris hadn't seen lose a single fight since they'd met appeared at his friend's side.

Johnny smirked. "Too bad. I was hoping this would be an interesting fight. "Go, Bruno!" He tossed a Luxury Ball forward, and out popped a jet-black Garchomp, with a silvery star at the tip of his rocket-like nose. "This is my enforcer, Bruno. He has not lost a single match since I acquired him. Bruno, Extremespeed."

Chris was surprised. He hadn't known that Garchomp could perform the fastest speed move known to man and Pokémon, and was suddenly slightly worried that Lu might not win. Garchomp exploded forward and vanished from sight about two seconds into his charge.

Remy and Lu grinned at nearly the same time, and suddenly, Lu twitched a few inches to the left and reached out, grabbing the Garchomp's dorsal fin as it reappeared, ready to strike out at the Lucario who was supposed to be in front of him, not to his left.

"Toss him up and shoot him down, Lu!" Remy roared. Lu spun Bruno around before launching him eight feet into the sky with one hand, all the while charging up a dark, silvery-indigo swirling ball of energy in the other. Two seconds after hurling the Garchomp upward, Lu released the Dragon Pulse in his hand that struck the Mach Pokémon in the back.

Bruno landed heavily, but still on his feet, panting slightly. Johnny's lips tightened slightly, and he started to call out the next order when a spotlight shone down on all of them like God himself was glaring at them from the incomprehensible heavens above.

"Stop right there," came an amplified voice from the police helicopter hovering above them. "You are under arrest for disturbing the peace, inciting an unsanctioned Pokémon battle, and resisting arrest."

"Aw, fuck!" Remy and Johnny growled together. "They found me." Then they looked at each other. "They found _you_?" they asked simultaneously. There was a brief pause. "How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?"

"Okay, enough with that!" Chris yelled. There were sirens rapidly approaching their position, and he didn't want to be around when they got into the alley, which could be cut off very easily by two cop cars and a few police officers. "We gotta get outta here!"

"Too late," rumbled one of Johnny's bodyguards as he released a Steelix from its ball. The other's Pokéball contained a Poliwrath, and as Chris brought out Atlas just as five or six cop cars came to a screeching halt on either end of the alley, and Arcanine, Houndour, Growlithe, Houndoom, and police come piling out.

One of the officers, a detective by the look of him, stepped forward on Remy and Chris' side of the alley. "Don't make this difficult," he said. "My name's Detective Forbes, and if you turn yourself in now, I'll make sure that you're taken well care of."

"Sorry, buddy," Remy said with a grin, "but I ain't planning on going to jail anytime soon."

"Very well, then," Forbes said, turning to a rather large Arcanine with beige stripes that matched his mane of fluffy fur. "Fire Blast on his Lucario, Torch."

The Arcanine nodded and fired a roaring, five-pronged blast of flame that seared down the alley, scorching anything in touched. "Lu, Aqua Rocket, straight through."

Chris watched in amazement as Lu moved his hands in a fluid motion, and water seemed to spring from his palms as he wrapped it around himself and darted forward with more speed than just about anything he'd seen before.

The trail of water, which was all that could be seen of Lu, speared into the Fire Blast as though it were nothing, and kept on until it rammed Torch in the chest, sending him flying into Forbes and some other cops.

"Whoa!" Chris exclaimed. "That was amazing! Atlas, help out with a Rock Slide!" The Machamp knelt and scooped up four handfuls of asphalt like it was nothing but snow and started hurling the stone at the police Pokémon like nobody's business.

Between Lu and Atlas, the police were put completely on the defensive, not even able to order an attack while they dove behind their cars to stop from being crushed by the Rock Slide or the various attacks the Aura Pokémon was unleashing on them.

Remy glanced backwards and saw that the mafia contingent wasn't doing so well against their side of the fight. Bruno looked pretty knackered, and the Steelix was already down for the count. Only the Poliwrath seemed to be going strong, loosing Hydro Pumps and Bubblebeams left, right, and center.

"Hey, keep it up," Remy told Chris, who nodded. "I'm gonna help those bastards out before they're overrun by Grumpigs. When you hear me say 'Lu, now,' then book it towards us. Got it?" Chris nodded again.

Lu zipped up the side of the building adjacent to the bar and up onto the roof, while Remy opened two Pokéballs and a rolling ball of rock burst out, growing arms, legs, and a small, reptilian head as it stopped while a floating violet ghost with a wide-brimmed hat on its head hovered above: Barricade the Golem and Morgana the Mismagius were on the scene.

When they turned to him for orders, he said, "Tandem move fifteen, okay? Wait for my signal, 'cause we got a couple passengers."

"Go, lem gol," Barricade nodded, while Morgana just smiled sinisterly.

"Lu, now!" he shouted, grabbing Johnny and his two bodyguards, ordering them to recall their Pokémon. "Barricade! Morgana!"

Chris dove towards them, Pokéball glowing as it recalled Atlas into its bowels, and made it just in time to be enveloped by a massive Protect bubble, which was floating a foot or so above the ground, courtesy of Morgan's Psychic.

"What is the meaning of this?" Johnny Tightlips demanded, but Remy just gestured outside the Protect.

Chris glanced up, and saw Lu with a massive ball of blue-white aura growing steadily in his hands, before he unleashed it. It was like a Draco Meteor, except twenty times more powerful and destructive.

Multiple balls of aura flew down like streamers in the darkness of the alley, crashing into Arcanine and Growlithe and Houndoom and Houndour and police cars alike, creating craters in the concrete where they missed anything but the floor. They bounced harmlessly against the Psychic-enhanced Protect, but anything unlucky enough to be caught in that blast wouldn't be conscious for the next half-hour or so.

"That's the meaning of this. Barricade, get us outta here, would ya?" The Golem nodded and started spinning into a Rollout, slamming against the inside of the ball and moving it forward at about forty or fifty miles per hour, crashing against the already decimated cop cars and sending them flying. before swerving and heading upward as Morgana lifted them higher.

"Wrap a Confuse Ray around us, please, Morgana," he added, and the Mismagius' eyes glowed for a bit before the Protect was coated in a multicolored light. Chris assumed that this would work a bit like those SEP (Somebody Else's Problem) fields in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and deflect any interest in a flying Protect bubble filled with five Pokémon and five humans in the sky above Las Vegas. "Okay, now drop us back where we started from."

A few minutes later, they were back inside Johnny's bar, Barricade and Morgana back in their Pokéballs, and Lu was sitting, exhausted in a stool at the bar, taking a sip of some Blue Moon every once in awhile.

"Man, that was a-freakin'-mazing!" Chris exclaimed, patting Lu on the back heavily as he drank from his own glass of Jack on the rocks. "I mean, everyone knows you're awesome, but that was absolutely incredible! You pwned the shit out of like, twenty Pokémon, twenty cops, and ten cop cars in one move!"

_Well, I _am_ awesome,_ Lu admitted, taking a swig from his bottle. _But the Aura Storm ain't without it's drawbacks. I'll be pooped until tomorrow at the very least._

Johnny Tightlips came up to Remy, who was sitting on Lu's other side, and started speaking. "Tonight, you spilled my own beer on my own expensive clothing, and then you saved me from what surely would have been a lengthy stay in prison."

Remy shrugged. "You looked like you could use some help; I helped. It's not that big of a deal. I'll be glad if you just let this whole beer-on-clothes thing drop."

"On the contrary," said Johnny Tightlips. "I would like to give you a token of appreciation." He held out two badges for Remy and Chris. They took them and examined the small metal things that looked almost like the Mob Badge, the one presented at the New York City Gym, except it was colored black and silver instead of red and gold. "These badges are how we in the Mafia identify each other. They also work as communicators under situations of duress. As of now, you're officially honorary members of the Mafia.

"Also, since you aided me personally, anything that you can order in this bar is free of charge. And since I'm the head of one of the most criminally-active cities in the U.S., I can grant you one wish that is, should we say, highly illegal."

Remy and Chris glanced at each other as the same brainwave coursed through their heads and nodded. Remy turned to Johnny and said, "Well, it's not _highly_ illegal, per se, but I haven't smoked since, like, eleven in the morning, and I could use a pick-me-up after that whole thing. Total buzz-kill, being attacked by cops."

Johnny nodded and snapped his fingers. One of the bodyguards from before disappeared behind the bar and brought up a large, four-by-two-by-six foot brick of...

"Holy, shit; that's a lotta weed," Remy said, eyes bugging out as the muscled man dropped it on the bar in front of him.

"Seven pounds, to be exact," Johnny replied, a hint of a smile on his face. "I've never smoked, but some of my foot soldiers say that this is some of the best. It's called God's Gift."

Chris and Remy glanced at each other again, then started digging in their pockets frantically. Remy was first to find his packet of Zig-Zags, and immediately tore open the plastic wrap to get at the herb to break it down and roll it up.

Johnny Tightlips moved toward them, then stumbled a bit. Remy noticed and passed the joint he was rolling up to Chris before going to help him.

"Johnny Tightlips," Remy said as he led him to a nearby table to rest. "Where are you hurt?"

"I ain't sayin' nothing," replied Johnny stoically.

"So, uh, what'll you tell your doctor?"

"I'll tell him to suck a lemon."

We all laugh as Chris relates that last back-and-forth between Johnny Tightlips and I, and he finishes off by saying, "So we spent like, the next three or four hours getting drunk and high in a mob boss' bar with the mob boss himself."

"So then how did I end up wearing panties with shit drawn all over me with half a pair of handcuffs on me!" I ask, frustrated that nobody's been able to explain my strange wake-up earlier. The others laugh heartily at my expression, and I force myself to calm down. "Okay, so what happened after that, Chris?"

Chris shrugs with a bewildered sound. "Beats me. One minute I'm talking with Frankie-that's the buff guy with the Poliwrath, by the way-and I look around and you're totally gone. You even left Lu behind, mind you he was passed out on one of the pool tables. I think it was about one in the morning by then."

Huh. Man, I must've been wasted as fuck to leave behind Lu.

"Yeah, that's probably about the time you found me," Sam tells me, offering another fry, which I take gratefully. Man, how long does it take to make half of the McDonalds menu, anyway?

"Oh, yeah? Where'd I find you? Gambling like there's no tomorrow at New York, New York?" I chuckle at her addiction to wasting money. She actually blushes.

"It was Caesar's Palace, actually," she says. "I think I'd lost about a hundred dollars in nickels by the time you stumbled in..."

Flash Cannon in Vegas, Part Three

Samantha Harding was pissed the fuck off. She'd dropped so many nickels into the slot machine, she'd lost count at one thousand, three hundred, fifty-six and still she hadn't won anything. She had a sudden urge to bring Salem out and let him wreak havoc with a few Hyper Beams and Crush Claws.

She hadn't paid any attention to anyone who'd tried their hands at the slots to either side of her, so she didn't notice immediately that her best friend had plopped down on the seat to her left until she went to put a nickel in and was met with resistance. She looked in an almost dazed confusion at her wrist, which was enveloped in a large, tanned hand that contrasted with her pale skin.

Following the hand down the arm, and up the shoulder, she received a shock when she saw none other than Remy with a drunken grin on his face and an eyebrow raised.

"Hey, Sam," he said, leaning against his slot machine. "How long've you been here?"

Sam rubbed her eyes and glanced down at her big watch-face. "Um, I dunno, four hours, I think? I wandered in as soon as we split up."

Remy rolled his eyes and shook his head in disappointment. "And you still haven't won anything, have you?"

"Shut up," she snapped back, then a few moments later, "How'd you know?"

"You swear like you're so hard to figure out," Remy laughed gleefully, taking a nickel out of Sam's cup and dropping it into her machine before pulling the lever. The three roulettes spun, and all three stopped at the large pot of gold.

Sam nearly shrieked in frustration and bewilderment as the lights and sirens on top of the slot machine went off, announcing that its player had just won the jackpot. As nickels began pouring out like nobody's business, people began crowding around Sam, congratulating her on winning. All the while, Remy simply sat on his little seat and gave her a smug, shit-eating grin.

After awhile, once Sam had scooped up 'her' winnings and had exchanged them for cash, she and Remy meandered their way through the thinning crowds on the Strip.

"How the hell did you do that?" Sam asked. "I got all the coins I spent in there, and it came out to around a hundred and twenty-five bucks. That's twenty-five hundred nickels I dropped in that damn machine and you get the jackpot on your _first_ coin!"

"There's a simple answer to that, my dear," Remy said cheerfully, draping an arm around her shoulders as they walked. "I'm just a lucky bastard, and you're an unlucky bee-yotch."

"Fuck you," Sam growled, but did nothing in retaliation except punch him in the ribs lightly. She spotted a nightclub that was still open and grabbed the hand around her shoulder to steer them toward it. "C'mon, let's get something to drink."

"You ain't gonna hear me complain," Remy said with a shrug, following her in.

They spent the next hour barhopping and getting steadily drunker as they walked along the strip, laughing and generally having fun.

At around three in the morning, Remy glanced at his phone's display, hanging onto Sam with his other hand for support, and said, "Maybe we should start heading back to the Luxor."

"What's the matter?" Sam asked, a mocking grin creeping across her face. "The Big Bad Wolf can't hang, or what?"

Remy gave her an incredulous look. "I could totally drink more than you, lightweight." Then he glanced around. "It's just-"

He was cut off when a police car, with sirens wailing, suddenly swerved around the pair, who were crossing a street at the time. Two policemen got out of the car and pointed their guns at Remy and Sam, who both immediately raised their hands up high.

"Freeze!" shouted the driver, who then addressed his partner. "This the guy?"

The other man, whose gun barrel was shaking slightly, nodded fervently. "That's him, Navarro, he's the one."

"Seriously?" Navarro said, raising an eyebrow at his comrade. "This guy doesn't seem like such a big deal to me, Bradley."

"I'm telling you, man!" Bradley insisted. "I was there _both _times. He took out ten police Pokes with his Arcanine after that disturbance at the Luxor, and then four times as many Pokes and officers the second time in the alley, _and_ a dozen cruisers! I don't recognize the girl, but she can only be an accomplice of...the Devil."

As Navarro chuckled at his partner's melodramatics, Sam turned an icy glare at Remy. "What are they talking about?"

"Um, well, it's kind of a funny story, actually..." Remy said with a nervous laugh that trailed off pitifully under the Medusa-glare of doom.

The police officers cuffed both of them to a bicycle rack nearby to prevent them from escaping (as Remy had twice in less than six hours), then began to process them using their in-car computer system.

Sam was absolutely furious, and she proceeded to wail on Remy with her one free hand while he tried his best to fend off her attacks. "What the _hell_is the matter with you?" she asked, trying to dig her small, yet dangerous, knuckles into any part of her friend's body that she could. "Are you absolutely brain-dead?"

"Only a little bit," Remy answered, grabbing her wrist and trapping it between their bodies when he pulled her closer. "Look, don't worry, okay? I'll get us out of this." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a silver-and-black badge before placing it in his ear and began moving a miniature dial millimeters at a time.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, curious despite the current situation.

"Trying to tune this damn thing," Remy grunted, wincing as static howled in his ear. "Ah, here we go..." He pulled it out of his ear, then brought it to his mouth. "Johnny Tightlips, are you there?"

When he brought it back to his ear, a familiar voice sounded through the tiny speaker. "Who's askin'?"

"Johnny, it's Remy, the guy that saved your ass a few hours ago. Sorry to ask, but these damn cops just won't give it a rest. They caught up to me and a friend of mine, and long story short, we're handcuffed to a bike rack on the Strip, close to the Luxor."

"This will be dealt with shortly," was the reply.

"Thanks a million, Johnny," said Remy, and clicked the device off before explaining to Sam, "My mafia membership badge acts as a communicator in times of duress. I deemed this to be a time of duress and hit up the homie."

"You're in the mafia?" Sam asked, her anger rising steadily again.

"This can be very easily explained, but I want you to hold on to that thought," Remy said, glancing behind her. He'd just spotted a familiar Poliwrath. "Hold still," he whispered.

"Wh-" Sam started, but was answered when an Ice Beam struck the portion of her handcuff that was attached to the bike rack. A second frozen lance of energy hit Remy's, and he didn't hesitate to pull with all his might. The weakened metal broke, and he was left with a stylish half-handcuff bracelet.

Sam quickly did the same, and the stood up to run when the police noticed. "Hey! Stop right there!" Two 9mm Glocks pointed at them, and they froze once again.

"You two!" shouted a voice that accompanied the Poliwrath; Frankie the bodyguard was chucking a smoke grenade at the cop car. "Get the hell outta here!"

Remy and Sam didn't need any further prompting; they turned their backs to the growing cloud of smoke and booked it as fast as they could to the Luxor, up the stairs (the elevator was too slow) and into Remy's hotel room on the twelfth floor of the pyramidal structure.

Lying on the bed a few minutes later with a couple of drinks they'd room service'd up, Remy began regaling Sam with his adventures from the previous night, and she interjected a few times ("You really told Kris Angel that you were Mindfucking him?" or "What the hell kind of name is Johnny Tightlips?" or "_Seven whole pounds of God's Gift_!").

After awhile, they simply laid on the bed, side by side as they watched _Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby_, a bowl of popcorn between them, with a few Russian Sunrises each to wash down the salty snack.

At one point in the movie, when racecar driver Ricky Bobby is filming promotional commercials for gum ("Hi, I'm Ricky Bobby, and if you don't chew Big Red, then fuck you!"), Sam laughed so hard she spilled her concoction of vodka and orange juice in her hand all over Remy.

After a few moments of staring back and forth between his soaked clothes and a mortified Sam while making whiny little noises, Remy stumbled off the bed and started pulling his clothes off.

"You're paying for dry-cleaning," Remy growled as he rung out his grandfather's jacket in the sink, "but that was pretty priceless."

Sam stuck her tongue out at him, closing her eyes in the process. Then she spent the next minute or so caught up in the feel of her drunken tongue, and when she opened her eyes again, Remy was down to his boxers and-

"-uh, and we, uh, fell asleep after that," Sam stammers, which confuses me slightly.

"Wait, then how did I get written on? And where the hell did those panties come from?" At this, another round of guffaws ripple through the male members of our little group. By now, the employees of McDonalds have finished my meal, and I'm halfway done with it, stuffing my mouth full of Chipotle Bacon Angus Barbecue Burger, so I can't growl in anger at them without looking like a fool.

"We all woke up at around eleven and decided that a nice Mickey-Dee's lunch was in order," Chris explained. "Everyone was waiting for you, and when you didn't answer the door, we kinda got worried, so we used the extra key card you gave to Sam and found you passed the fuck out bare-assed naked on the floor in front of the TV with a bowl of popcorn turned upside down over your crotch. Beth had some Sharpies in her purse, and we went to town."

The others burst into immediate laughter, and even I have to admit that it's a pretty funny story. "Well," I say, trying to salvage the situation, "at least we've got our first drunken adventure on the road as a band. Who drew on my dick to make it look like a space shuttle, by the way?"

Sam turned crimson, and the rest of them simply laughed harder than they'd ever done before. Chuck nudged me with his elbow, still giggling like a little girl as he said, "We all drew straws to do it, and you know how shitty my dear big sister's luck is." He chuckled, "_and _we forced her to put the panties on you."

He only got a chance to erupt into a fit of hysterics for a few seconds before a plastic tray slammed into his head, wielded by his angry sister. "Whoops, sorry, Chucky," she said sweetly as she went to take the others' trays to the trash can. "Didn't see ya there."

"Well," I say, chomping on the remainder of my meal before standing up and patting my full belly contentedly. "I guess we should start setting up here, huh?"

"Yeah, but first, we need to sort out the absolute mess you made of Las Vegas last night," Damien said. "You caused a shit-load of damage, and to be honest, I have no idea how you're not doing serious time right now."

"Ain't it obvious?" I say with a mock-incredulous look at him. "It's cause I'm a gangsta! I'm a motherfuckin' G, dawg! F-f-fuck the police!" And with that, I make my way back to the Luxor, hiding my face with a stolen newspaper to avoid detection from a passing police cruiser.

As I walk through the doors of the atrium, however, I'm not thinking of anything I was told I did that night. Nah, that's all cool and everything, but the best thing that came from my first night in Vegas was the fact that Sammie was handling my man-junk not five hours ago, and that's enough to make me feel pretty darn good.

Freakin' Vegas, man. Freakin' Vegas. Who knows? Maybe when we're all famous and stuff, we can have another awesome night like this in Bangkok...

**A/N: Hell yeah! That was super fun to write. Yeah, Remy's like that one guy in that one Pokémon movie with the cool Lucario in how he can use aura. His granddad taught him how to use it, so he's pretty badass with it. Yes, Johnny Tightlips was lifted from the Simpsons, but I doubt anyone would catch that, so...yeah. Kris Angel just rubs me the wrong way. He's never freaked my mind, and I doubt he ever will. So, I had Remy throw assorted nuts at him. Keep that mafia badge thingy in mind, 'cause it'll play a part in the story later on, as well as that glint of recognition Johnny Tightlips had that Chris 'imagined' in is drunken state. They tie into a plot twist I've got in store for ya later on. Anyway, see ya later, and may the Force be with you always.**

**P.S: Whoever finds that randomly obscure Mocha Lucha reference will get an honorable mention in my next author's note.**


	10. Don't You Kow Who I Think I Am?

**A/N: Hello, folks! Tonight, I present to you the second of Remy's eight Gym battles, at the always classy Caesar's Palace. The Gym Leaders are fraternal twins, like the Mossdeep City Gym in the Ruby/Sapphire/Emerald games, and, like the Los Angeles Gym and every other Gym in America, specializes in two different Pokemon types. It'll be awesome, since it's a double battle, which means Remy will need a battling partner. I'll give you three guesses who it is, but I doubt you'll need more than one. Anyway, have fun with it, and try not to get too excited. And thanks once again to HappyHereford for your kind words. At least I have one consistent reader. **_***sigh***_

Tenth Session-Don't You Know Who I Think I Am?

Thanks to Johnny Tightlips, we got all that nastiness with the police taken care of hush-hush-like, and now I'm able to freely walk the streets of Vegas without getting attacked by police (although at least one I've seen still screams in fright and peels off in his cruiser. That's always a bonus to see cops running from you instead of the other way around, doubly so when you've been chased by police as many times as I have.

Anyway, a surprising side-effect of what Flash Cannon has begun calling 'The Vegas Incident' is that Kris Angel is paying for our entire stay at the Luxor, and has invited me to be a guest of honor in his bi-weekly show. His only condition is that I don't try to 'Mindfuck' him again. Heh. I even managed to teach him how to _actually_ levitate a little bit. None of my awesome-ass flight capabilities, but he can totally float in the air now.

We decided that, since we're not in any serious hurry to move on, and with a B-list celebrity paying for our hotel and room service, that we could take it easy. This isn't just a Gym Challenge-slash-BoB tour; it's a vacation. None of the band members have ever had a vacation that didn't involve their parents, and this is as good an opportunity as any.

I wake up today feeling much better than the first time I awoke in this room and get ready for my scouting run I'll get of the Las Vegas Gym. I've seen a couple of the battles on TV, but it's always better to see a Gym Leader (or Leader_s_, in this case) in person to catch any of their idiosyncrasies or subtle body language to help get an advantage.

At the main entrance to the Luxor, I find Sam and Chuck already waiting for me. The band had decided to split up today: The three of us would go to the Gym while Damien, Beth and Chris are given the important task of getting us a gig in Vegas. So far, we've already tried about five venues, and so far, no dice. There's a saying about a situation like this, though. It goes, 'if at first you don't succeed, give up and try tomorrow...' or something like that.

"Damn it, Remy," growls Sam when I get to within earshot. "Why is it that you're late to everything?"

"I'm not late for _everything,_" I say, rolling my eyes. "All generalizations, including this one, are false." My incredible wit goes unnoticed by the Harding siblings, as usual.

"Well, she's got a point, as much as it pains me to agree with my sister," Chuck says from my other side as we make our way toward Caesar's Palace. "You were late for every single day of school, you were late for all our practices and gigs; hell you were late for Grandad's funeral!"

"That wasn't my fault," I snap, frowning angrily.

"I never said it was," Chuck hurriedly interjects, raising his hands placatingly. "I'm just saying that you should probably set your watch early or something. That way, even if you're late according to _your_ time, you'll actually be early or on-time for something."

"Whatever," I say, only slightly mollified.

"Hey, simmer down, now," Sam says with an empathetic grin. "Keep your mind on current matters and not how you're always late."

I shoot her a dry glare, but let it slide. "Okay, so let's review what we know about the Las Vegas Gym."

"Well," Chuck states thoughtfully (which is a miracle in its own right), "the Vegas Gym focuses on Light and Dark Pokemon, so Fighting-types and Gem-types would be a good choice to fight 'em."

"It's also a Double Battle Gym," Sam pipes up. "Six on six bouts, between the two Gym Leaders and two challengers."

"Does it have to be two?" I ask, thinking back to the battles I watched on the boob-tube and realize that there was never a single opponent commanding two Pokemon.

"Yuppers," Sam replies, bobbing her head. "Which means that you need a battling partner in there. And since we're in Vegas, you can't call any of your usual sparring partners to help out, so you're limited to band members."

Now this I've gotta ponder on. I've practiced against all four of my bandmates in mock-battles, so I've got a good idea about their Pokemon, their strategies, and their adaptability in the heat of the moment. When I come to a decision, I almost laugh at myself when I realize that I shouldn't have even had to think so hard on it.

We're in a crowd of pedestrians, but it'll be too priceless to matter at that point. I dart forward and kneel down in front of Sam, pulling an empty Luxury Ball from a pocket as I grasp her hand before announcing, "How about it Sammie? Will you make me the happiest man alive and be my...battling partner?" I whisper the last part in an affected sultry voice.

Chuck bursts into laughter as people around us (seeing only what they want to see and not what's actually happening) begin to jump to conclusions and wait for Sam's answer with almost as much suspense as when the sheeple wait to hear who America's Next Top Bimbo will be.

Sam's expressions cycle through shock, horror, anticipation, suspicion, exasperation, and finally humor. When her face splits into a face-breaking smile of transcendent joy, I become confused. "Of course, I will, honeybunch!" she squeals in a very un-Sam-like voice.

The crowd who's gathered around us bursts into applause as people push forward to congratulate the 'newly-engaged couple' while Chuck is beside himself laughing his ass off.

After the scene breaks up and we get into the Gym portion of Caesar's Palace, I lean in so Sam can hear me over the large amounts of volume in the Gym, where a battle's going on already.

"You sold that bit pretty well," I mutter as we take seats about mid-field.

"Well, I couldn't just break your little heart in the middle of the Strip, now could I?" Sam replies with a grin and an elbow-nudge to the ribs. "What kind of 'fianceé' would I be then, huh? Riddle me that, Golbatman. Riddle me that."

"That's my line," I grumble, but grin nonetheless. "I'll need that Luxury Ball back, by the way. It's Lu's."

"He never uses it, anyway," she shoots back. "I'm keeping it. Think of it as a souvenier from our 'touching moment' when you popped the question."

Rolling my eyes, I focus instead on the battle taking place. As predicted, it's a six-on-six Double Battle, and the challengers aren't doing so hot. According to the scoreboard suspended above the field, they're down four Pokemon, and their last two look like they don't have much fight left in them. Meanwhile, the Leaders have lost none of their six Pokemon, and the Pokemon they've got fielded seem to be doing just fine.

One is an Umbreon; short, black fur, red eyes, and golden rings scattered over its body. The other is a Phosphoreon, the Light-type Eevee-lution, whose evolution is induced by the radiation given off by the feather of a Ho-oh, commonly referred to as a Rainbow Wing. It's the opposite of its Dark-type brethren, with pure white fur, blue eyes, and silvery rings in the same places the golden ones are on an Umbreon.

The Leaders themselves are twins; fraternal to be precise. Hiram and Miriam Springer are twenty-four years old, just a year older than I am, and they've been given God's gift of good-looks. Why, last month's Playgirl apparently did a centerfold piece featuring Hiram, if the tabloids are to be believed. Both have silvery-blonde hair; Miriam's is long and unchecked, while Hiram's is styled into the ever-popular (and faggish) _faux_-hawk, and both of them have startlingly green eyes.

As the battle progresses, I realize why they don't allow only single Trainers to battle them. They've got a natural link to each other that allows them a major advantage over other pair Trainers. The current challengers keep on launching incompatible attacks that fizzle out or interrupt the other, while Hiram and Miriam seem to know what the other will do before the other knows themselves.

The Leaders smell blood in the water, so to speak, and decide to put the poor challengers out of their misery. As one, the pair raise their hands, fingers pointing gloriously across the field as they shout in tandem, "Shadow and Shine, Balance Beam!"

The Umbreon and Phosphoreon move together quickly and begin charging a ball of energy between their tails. The black and white energies of the opposing types clash at first, before they coalesce and swirl together startlingly easily.

Their opponents, a groggy Crobat and a punch-drunk Machoke never even see the dual-tinted beam of absolute power that crashes into them. They get sent for a short flight that the concrete barricade ends quickly. The referee, a gorgeous woman in her early forties, holds up a black flag and announces the Leaders' victory to the tumultuous joy of the crowd.

Chuck whistles low before turning to us. "You guys really got your work cut out for ya," he tells me and Sam. "They've had their whole lives to figure out how to work together."

"You forget yourself, sir," I chide him with a refined British accent, giving him a light tap to his forehead.

"Yeah," Sam pipes up with a grin. "Don't you know who we think we are?"

He looks confused for just a moment before he plugs in the lamp. "Whoa, I was feeling sorry for you guys, but..." he gives a short scoff, "...now I'll be praying for the Gym Leaders."

Two days later finds Sam and I in the tunnel that leads to the battlefield (a basic soft-ground field with a bit of tall grass scattered about), waiting for the ref to announce the next battle. We trained all day yesterday, while we practiced the entire day before that. Damien and his team have secured us a gig at the Rain Nightclub, which is pretty dope.

I'm getting ahead of myself, though. Gym battle now, Rain Nightclub later.

Glancing to my right, I offer Sam a reassuring smile. "Ready to go kick some fraternal twin ass?"

"You know it, _partner_," Sam returns with a feral smirk. "Those two'll never even know what hit 'em. They think they've got a good thing going, but no team stands against the Dynamic Duo, right?"

"Right you are, m'lady," I answer, slinging an arm around her and pulling her in for a hug.

"...and now, from Los Angeles, California, Remus Yucatan and Samantha Harding!" comes the feminine voice of the ref, who we now know to be the twins' mother (talk about a freakin' MILF...).

We walk into the stadium proper and wave to the crowd. From one of the closer rows, I hear, "Hey, it's those two lovebirds we saw proposing the other day, Bill!" I groan as I realize that my arm's still around Sam's shoulders, but when I glance down at her, she only gives me a dry grin as I feel her arm snake around my middle and pat me on the belly.

"Looks like we're local celebrities, _honeybunch_," she murmurs jokingly as we take our positions in the Trainer's Box.

"Looks like," I agree. Before I can say anything further, we both hear a startled shriek, and a man about two rows away from the front bolts to his feet and tears out of the stadium, screaming his head off about 'the Devil and his concubine' or something. "Was that...?"

"...the twitchy cop that stopped us our first night here and runs away screaming whenever he sees us? Sure was," Sam says, hand in front of her mouth to stop the bout of hearty laughter trying to bubble out past her lips.

Before we can continue, the ref, Mrs. Springer, announces her children. "And here are your Gym Leaders, and the top Pair Trainers in America, Hiram and Miriam Springer!" The crowd cheers its 'home-team' as our opponents walk across the field.

They spare no words for us, only predatory glares from those freaky green eyes of theirs as their mother tells us the rules. "Now, this will be a six-on-six Double Battle. The challengers may substitute Pokemon whenever they want, but the Leaders may not. Are you ready?" Both pairs of Trainers nod in unison. "Good. Begin!"

Hiram and Miriam waste no time fielding what is obviously their starting pair. Shadow the Umbreon and Shine the Phosphoreon burst onto the field as Salem and Rover erupt from their Pokeballs on our side.

There's a moment when all four quadripeds simply size up their opponents before Hiram makes the first move. "Shadow, Shine, Dig in!"

I roll my eyes at Sam, who stifles a smirk while the Eevee-lutions burrow underground quickly. I can figure out their strategy easily enough: take out Rover with the super-effective Ground-type move before turning to work on Salem. Too bad for them that we've had that exact tactic used on us before, and we've found a surefire way to poke holes in it quickly.

"Salem, hop on Rover's back!"

"Rover, Earthquake!"

Salem leaps quickly onto Rover's back, who accepts the extra weight easily, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he takes his stance. With a fierce, roaring bark, the Arcanine slams his forepaws into the ground, shaking the whole field like a salt-shaker. The two subterranean Pokemon should be popping up any second now...

The ground bulges just short of mid-field and Shadow and Shine are forced roughly from their holes and into the sky. Sam and I take advantage of them with a 'juggling' combo. "Now, Salem! Extremespeed!"

"You too, Rover!" The cat and dog disappear in a rapid burst of speed and suddenly, the Umbreon and Phosphoreon are bouncing around in the air like it's a ping-pong match instead of a Pokemon battle.

Rover and Salem reappear in their original positions as Shadow and Shine fall to the ground, down but far from out. Miriam and Hiram glance uneasily at each other, probably wondering if that was luck or skill that brought their inital attack to a screeching halt.

"Shadow, springboard into a Dark Pulse!" commands Hiram.

"Shine, Double-Kick on your back!" Miriam concludes. The Phosphoreon rolls over, back legs firing up just as the Umbreon's paws are above them, sending Shadow high into the air. I watch as he charges a heavy-duty Dark Pulse before letting it fly, a swirling burst of shadow (aided by gravity) gunning for Rover.

My eyes lower just in time to see a Flash Cannon (oh, the irony) sailing toward Salem from Shine's direction. Oh, I just fell for the oldest trick in the freakin' book. It's a good thing Sam hadn't.

"Salem, Light Screen!" Salem's blue gem flashes white for a moment before a solid wall of energy unfurls and takes the two attacks before breaking apart in shimmering splinters.

"Capitalize with a Fire Blast on Umbreon!" I call to Rover, who lets loose with a five-pronged flame attack that slams into Shadow like a cement mixer, knocking him out of the sky.

"Shadow, Moonlight!" Hiram calls out, a bit of panic in his voice. The rings on Umbreon's fur begin glowing brightly as he falls, and the scorch-marks sustained during the Fire Blast disappear. Shadow ends his short descent by landing lithely on his feet, an almost smug smile on his face. Phosphoreon voices something to him in concern, and he replies to her in Pokese with a hint of hubris.

"Impressive," I say, despite the situation. "Giga Beam, you think?" This is directed at Sam, who nods.

"Salem, Rover, Giga Beam time," Sam commands, and both Pokemon nod. Rover's been part of the family for so long that any order given by Sam is probably more important than any from my mouth.

The Giga Beam is a tandem move that's startled the shit out of some Double-Battlers in the L.A. circuit. Let's watch and see what happens.

While Salem charges up a Hyper Beam, Rover charges forward quickly, obtaining a pinkish-gold aura as he initiates his Giga Impact, headed straight towards the newly-healed Shadow. The Umbreon prepares for a dodge when Salem's Hyper Beam pushes the pink-and-golden cocoon that Rover's wrapped in forward, sending it rocketing forward faster than anyone can react.

Poor Shadow gets hit by a Hyper Beam-enhanced Giga Impact (or Giga Beam) and doesn't get back up. No amount of Moonlight's gonna fix that sucker up anytime soon.

The crowd, the Leaders, and the ref are all stunned by the blatant show of brute force and teamwork shown by our Pokemon as Hiram recalls Shadow. Then he turns to our side of the box and speaks to us for the first time. "That...was a very good move," he says, nodding respectfully. "Come on out, Raven!" His next Pokemon is a Honchkrow.

Miriam picks up on his train of thought. "We won't take you lightly from here on in," she says, giving me a thoughtful smile.

I turn to Sam, whose Cheshire Meowth smile widens a few teeth. "Maybe we should stop holding back then, too, huh?" I simply nod, then await the Leaders' next move.

"Raven, Close Combat on Persian!"

"Shine, Aura Sphere, same target!"

Honchkrow dives steeply toward Salem as Phosphoreon charges and releases a moderately-impressive ball of aura. They're too slow, though; it gives us ample time to prepare.

"Rover, interception!"

"Salem, bat it upward with Crush Claw!"

Honchkrow's talons are screaming earthbound in a collision course with Salem, but his vision is suddenly filled with Rover's grinning mug as he tackles the shit out of Raven, sending him flying back up. Salem, meanwhile, surrounds his left claw with white energy before slamming it into the Aura Sphere, sending it careening upwards just in time to slam into Raven.

The startled bird squawks angrily as he flaps his way back to friendly airspace and regroups for a second try. Hiram and Miriam are wearing identical expressions of bewildered frustration. I bet none of their other opponents have stymied every single attempt at tandem moves with even better tandem moves. Then again, they've never met a pair like me and Sam.

"Dive Bomb!" the Gym Leaders shout together. Raven grabs Shine up in his talons before beating wing higher and higher until they're at the top of the dome that covers the stadium. Then, the pair begin falling, Shine covered in what is undoubtedly a Double-Edge attack, while Raven's body is engulfed in the aura of an Aerial Ace.

Before Sam or I can shout out a command, Raven releases Shine, aiming for Salem. The Phosphoreon slams head-first into Salem, sending a huge cloud of dust billowing outward. As soon as Shine is out of his grasp, Raven loops upward and into the cloud, striking Salem and knocking him out of the cloud, unconscious.

To my surprise, Mrs. Springer raises both flags. "Salem and Shine are both unable to battle!" I look to where the Double-Edge hit and see that Phosphoreon was knocked out by that reckless attack as well. The score stands at two to one in our favor; we can't let 'em even the odds.

Sam recalls Salem with a grateful, "Thanks, pal," before pulling out a new ball and releasing Bella into the fight. Over on the other side, another part-Flying-type had burst out onto the scene. Miriam's Togekiss, aptly named Dove, glides over to take her position next to Raven. So far, these two were pairing up their Pokemon quite well.

"Dove, Air Slash!" Miriam shouts.

"Back her up with Air Cutter, Raven!" adds Hiram.

A single, scything burst of wind slices the air, flanked by dozens of smaller wind sickles as they sweep across the field as a single wall of slicing air blasts. Nothing that we have in our combined arsenal will be able to stop that. In a surprising twist, Rover jumps in front of Bella and lets loose with a ferocious Roar. The sound waves disrupt some of the power from the Flying-type attacks, but the bulk of it still rams into Rover almost as hard as he hit Shadow earlier. He goes down to his knees, but manages to right himself with admirable gumption.

"Way to take a hit, buddy!" I shout encouragingly to him. "Now, show 'em some Hellfyre!" Rover barks an affirmative before gathering extremely hot flames in his mouth. The fire isn't the traditional red, or even the more powerful blue hue that some Fire-types are able to generate. No, this is Hellfyre, fire so hot it even burns the user a bit, and it's a pure, snow-white.

"Bella, Psychic on the Hellfyre! Get creative!" Sam commands, and Bella's hands raise as she concentrates on the newly-released jet of white-hot (literally) fire, molding it and morphing it with her mind.

As the flames race towards the two Flying-types, it takes the shape of a roaring Gyrados (I wonder where Bella got the inspiration). Raven and Dove use some impressive aerial acrobatics to dodge the Hellfyre, but Bella just splits it into a pair of Arbok made of flame that chase the two birds down and send them spiraling back to the ground, thoroughly charred. One plus-side to Hellfyre, other than the obvious, is that it causes horrible burns without fail.

Unfortunately, it works both ways, too. Rover goes down to his knees again, but struggles to get up again. I decide it's time to cut losses and signal to Mrs. Springer. "I forfeit Rover's slot. He's done for the battle," I tell her, sending a beam of light to recall the Arcanine into his ball. "You set 'em alight, bro," I add to the ball, stowing it in its pocket before retrieving another.

Leonidas, the blue-hued Gallade appears kneeling on the floor in front of Bella, holding one of her dainty hands between both of his. Bella's got that Mona Lisa smile pulling at her lips as Leo brings his own to the back of her hand. The pair of them should just bunk down already and stop with the stupid chivalry and stuff.

"Okay, Leo, now that you've got that taken care of, how about getting your head in the game?" He answers with a quick grin as he hops to his feet and hyperextends his arm blades. "That's what I like to see."

This battle will be a little difficult, since Raven's Dark/Flying-type trumps Leo's Psychic/Fighting-type any which way you wanna look at it, and Bella doesn't do much better since Psychic attacks do absolutely no damage to Dark-types, and it's not too great against Light-types, either. Fortunately, we've got a few tricks up our sleeve.

"Let's let them make the first move," I tell Sam, who nods with a wicked grin.

The Springer siblings don't disappoint. "Raven, Dove, Aerial Ace!" they exclaim simultaneously. Honchkrow and Togekiss gain some altitude before spiraling down into an attack vector, their primary target being Leo.

I'm no mind reader, but I know that Sam's thinking the same thing I am: _Wait for it...wait for it..._ Just as the two Flying-types get close, we both shout, "Now!"

Bella unleashes a wicked Shockwave that scores direct hits on both of the winged creatures, stalling them just enough for Leo to lash out at them with his lightning-infused Thunder Edge blades.

Beating a hasty retreat, Raven and Dove wing their way high into the stadium to avoid any further attacks; they're wary of the two humanoids now. Good. They should be.

"Bella, Ice Beam!" Sam calls out, and the Gardevoir nods briefly, gathering icy energy between her palms before releasing it in a thin, unstable beam that flies toward Dove, who dodges. "Keep at it!" While Bella is occupied by Dove, moving around to find an optimal angle for attack, Hiram sees an opening.

"Raven, Miracle Eye!" The Honchkrow's eyes glow in technicolor for a second before he starts swiveling his head quickly; too quickly to be natural. Damn it. Before I can shout a warning, Hiram exclaims, "Night Wing!"

Honchkrow does that upward flight before the downward dive, except it suddenly disappears from sight. I figure that it's a type of attack similar to Shadow Sneak, Faint Attack, and Shadow Force in that the user wraps itself with darkness to stop light from refracting off it and making it essentially invisible. I turn to my left just in time to see Raven appear behind Bella.

Of course, Leo goes into 'defensive boyfriend' mode and leaps between the attacker and Bella, only to get smacked around a couple times by an unseen attacker before he skids to a halt in front of me. He grunts angrily before kipping back to his feet, blades poised and ready.

"What're you doing, Leo?" Sam shouts. "Worry about your own skin."

"But, Sammie, he's in love," I reply with a grin. "Nothing stands in the way of love; not even love." While Sam's trying to decipher my idiot-speak, I shout a command. "Prophet Blade!" Leo's blades become a vibrant purple color as the Psychic energy envelops them, making them both sharper and longer at the same time, and he kneels in preparation.

"Stop it with Balance Beam!" Miriam retorts, and the two Flying-types oblige, circling each other in the air while they build up a dual-hued ball of Dark and Light power that streams down toward our two Pokemon.

Leo's legs extend and he shoots up, leading with his blades, and Sam shouts, "Back him up with Psychic!" Bella once again positions her hands before her, and Leo gains a multicolored outline. The beam-attack careens toward Leo, who holds one blade in front of him vertically, and the two forces collide.

The Prophet Blade is one of those attacks so powerful that they're capable of knocking any Pokemon out in one hit, but the same can be said of the twins' signature technique known as the Balance Beam. I've studied up on this Gym, and that behemoth of an attack knocks out Pokemon left, right, and center.

Leo cuts into the crest of the beam, insulated for the most part by the protective Psychic helping him out, but Raven and Dove just ratchet up the power they're pushing into the attack, causing the Balance Beam to bulge and send Leo back to the ground.

Luckily, my Gallade holds his ground, using both blades to hold back the Balance Beam, while Bella forces more energy into her Psychic, beads of sweat forming on their brows. It's a battle of wills, and slowly, but surely, we're winning.

In a sudden show of power, Leo surges forward, and bisects the attack right down the middle, helped through the air by Bella's telekinetic energy.

"Night Wing!"

"Solar Wing!"

Just before Leo makes it up to where the Balance Beam originates, Raven and Dove abandon the attack and scatter, Raven doing his disappearing act while Dove's wings begin to shine as brightly as the noon sun.

I don't have to look for Raven too long; he reappears right behind Leo and smashes his wing into the Gallade's back, sending him crashing back down to earth. As he impacts, Bella glances over at him at just the right time for Dove to take advantage and bludgeon her with Light-infused wings heavily.

"Now finish them!" Miriam and Hiram shout. A Dark Pulse streams down upon Leo from above as a swirling blast of pure light (otherwise known as a Light Pulse, appropriately) slams into Bella, who's just getting to her feet. The two of 'em never had a chance.

"Gallade and Gardevoir are unable to battle," announces Mrs. Springer. "Choose your final two Pokemon, challengers."

Sam and I glance at each other, then pull our balls out (heh). This is a major gamble on our end, but then again, when in Vegas, right? And if it pays off, it'll be epic. We both toss the Pokeballs out, and they expel the two creatures I've dreaded releasing simultaneously: Scrappy the Zangoose and Cocoa the Seviper.

Both land in battle-ready positions and size up their opponents before considering their partners. When they catch sight of the other, I see the exact moment something in their brain snaps. Their anger towards each other makes me think that it's not just that whole Zangoose-Seviper rivalry; maybe they really actually have some sort of personal grudge or something.

Scrappy's claws glow white as he rushes forward and slams into the poisonous violet sheen emitting from Cocoa's tail blade. They make a few more back-and-forth exchanges before Hiram and Miriam make their first mistake.

"Balance Beam!" As Raven and Dove begin to charge their attack, Scrappy and Cocoa pause in their relentless battling to glare at the two Flying-types. Raven notices first and visibly flinches under their penetrating stare, and Dove does the same not too long afterward. One thing I've learned is to never _ever_ try to interfere with a fight between Scrappy and Cocoa. Bad things will happen.

The two glare at each other for a moment before nodding-as much of a truce as I'll ever hope for-and then turn back towards the noticeably shaking Flying-types.

"Cocoa, whip it! Scrappy, X-Scissor time!" Sam starts the battle with a bang; Cocoa wraps much of her body around Scrappy before flinging him into the air with his claws glowing saffron as he streaks up and cuts into Raven before kicking off the bird and rounding on Dove.

"Now, Cocoa, Flamethrower!" I add. As Scrappy goes to town on Dove a few dozen feet in the air, Cocoa gathers flames in her mouth and lets them fly, aiming at the slowly fallling Raven, scoring a direct hit

"Raven, Steel Wing on the Seviper!" shouts Hiram, and Raven pulls out of his downward spiral in time to avoid a crash landing, his wings gaining a metallic sheen. Cocoa gets buffetted by iron-hard wings, and Raven manages to veer off and aid Dove by knocking Scrappy away.

The mongoose lands on his feet, skidding a few feet as he corrects his balance. "Okay, let's try something new," Sam says. "Scrappy, charge up a Focus Blast; Cocoa, do the same with a Sludge Bomb." The two comply, one gathering amber ki energy between his palms while a massive ball of venom coalesces in the other's mouth. "Now let 'em fly!" Scrappy and Cocoa release their respective attacks, and just before they reach Raven and Dove, they slam together, creating a spread of poison and chi that works like buckshot from a shotgun. I swear, that woman's better than me at leading my Pokemon to victory.

Raven and Dove get peppered with the attack despite their attempts to dodge it. That little trick is devilishly hard to evade, and I decide to capitalize on their disorientation. "Double Flamethrower!"

Scrappy and Cocoa ignite flames in their mouths and send scorching gouts of fire at their falling opponents. The two attacks mingle and combine to form a humongous tongue of heat and flame that strikes Dove and Raven dead-on, creating a small explosion.

The two birds drop out of the resulting smoke field and land hard on the ground, already out of commission, causing surprised yells of approval from the crowd. "Raven and Dove are unable to battle! Leaders, choose your final two Pokemon!"

Hiram and Miriam glanced at each other before cracking identical smirks. "You've done admirably," Hiram calls over to us. "Nobody's ever forced us to use Ebony and Ivory before."

"You should feel honored that you're going to be destroyed by the two strongest Pokemon we have in our arsenal," Miriam adds, her smirk widening a bit. They pull out Pokeballs, and Miriam shouts, "Go, Ivory!"

"Go, Ebony!"

Ivory and Ebony are two Pokemon who look familiar, but entirely alien at the same time. Sam and I share a raised eyebrow, then go straight to our Pokedexes.

I point the sensor at Ivory, who looks almost like an Absol. It has two blades on its head instead of the one Absol have, both black, and both curved in opposite directions. It's also much larger, and has a pair of white tail blades

Morgan Freeman enlightens me: "Inevita, the Catastrophe Pokemon, and the evolved form of Absol. Wherever this Pokemon appears, intense natural destruction follows soon after. Its blades cause massive turbulence in the atmosphere, which create storms and hurricanes.

Well, that explains _that_. Turning the 'Dex toward the other one, I take a glance at the Mightyenna-ish one. Big, lupine, and heavily furred in white-streaked black tones, I'm guessing that this is another evolution that I hadn't known about.

"Magniyenna, the Arctic Wolf Pokemon, and the final evolution of Poochyenna. This Pokemon lives in the Arctic Circle, in almost constant night. Its vision is among the best in the world, and it hunts Mamoswine in packs on the tundra."

And that explains the rest of it. After checking the specs on our new opponents, I turn to Sam. "They're both dual types. Light and Dark, astonishingly."

"I've got a Pokedex, too, y'know," she points out, waving said electronic device in my face. "So what should we do?"

"Heavy hitters are the only option," I answer. "So let's hit 'em hard." She nods with a grin, and I shout out, "Scrappy, Hyper Claw!" The Zangoose's claws glow white as they extend to at least twice their normal size.

"Venom Fang, Cocoa!" Sam yells, and Cocoa's fangs turn a sickly, acidic green as extremely potent poison coats the foot-long incisors.

The two Pokemon surge forward, looking rather impressive as they go. I mean, who the hell would've thought that a Zangoose and a Seviper could do anything productive as a team?

Scrappy slices forward with his claws, aiming for Ivory the Inevita while Cocoa swims through the air, teeth bared at Ebony the Magniyenna.

"Darkslide, Ebony!"

"Flash Step, Ivory!"

Ebony is enveloped in a patch of utter blackness and vanishes while Ivory disappears in a burst of light. A second, maybe two, passes before they slam into Scrappy and Cocoa in a flash of shadow and light.

"Now, Balance Blast!" Instead of the two Pokemon combining their elements, as the other pairs of Pokemon deployed by the Springer siblings, Ivory and Ebony both gather a swirling ball of light and darkness in front of them, then let the beam fly.

Just as with Scrappy and Cocoa's Flamethrowers, the beams mingle and create a huge pillar of energy that hits the ground between our Pokemon and causes a titanic explosion that kicks up a cloud of debris.

"Shit," I growl. For as long as I've been a Trainer, I should know what kind of damage an attack like that can dish out. As the dust settles, I can make out Scrappy and Cocoa, who seem to be on their last legs already. It took a lot out of them to finish off Raven and Dove, and I'm not entirely sure that they'll be able to hold out against such powerful Pokemon as Ebony and Ivory.

Scrappy, who's panting like he just ran a few miles, suddenly cries out defiantly, despite the numerous scratches and bruises on his body. Cocoa follows his lead, and the glare at each other for a moment before nodding once more. Then the unexpected happens.

Both begin emitting the telltale shine of evolution as their bodies go through sudden rapid change before the eyes of everyone in the stadium. Eventually, the light begins to fade, and the world gets to see their new forms.

Scrappy's fur has gone from white to silver, with deep, bloodred accents. He's gained an extra claw on each hand which gained silvery hues, and bony white gauntlets over his forearms, along with a foot or so of height. Cocoa, meanwhile, has stayed mostly the same color, except gaining a metallic gold sheen to the yellow portions to her hide. Her head has gained a sort of helmet-like growth that sweeps back into a three-pronged crest, and her tail has split in two, each with its own golden blade and matching rattlers on each one.

Once again, the Morgan Freeman-dex gets some use. "Xengoose, the Claw Mongoose Pokemon, and the evolved form of Zangoose. This Pokemon species is locked in an eternal struggle with Rattleblade, and their clashes can sometimes destroy entire cities.

"Rattleblade, the Rattlesnake Pokemon, and the evolved form of Seviper. This Pokemon species is locked in an eternal struggle with Xengoose, and their clashes can sometimes destroy entire cities."

Sam looks at me, surprised. "Did you know they could evolve again?"

"Nope," I reply, then grin devilishly. "But neither did they." I jerk my thumb over at Hiram and Miriam, who have identical gobsmacked expressions etched on their faces. "Let's see what these guys can do, huh?"

She nods, then turns to Cocoa. "Show me what you can do, Cocoa. Poison Tail!" Cocoa nods, leaping forward as her blades turn poisonous purple. Her tails whip out with startling speed that catches Ivory by surprise, and they both score heavy hits on the Inevita, who gets sent back a couple of feet.

While Sam's taking care of the commands for now, I'm researching some of the new attacks that come with the evolution. It seems as though Scrappy's gained the Light-type, while Cocoa went over to the Dark side. It's fitting, I suppose, that they'd evolve in the Gym that specializes in those areas.

"Ebony, Darkslide!" shouts Hiram. Seems that their surprise was only a temporary thing.

I decide to try something different. "Scrappy, Flash Step!" The Xengoose glances at me for but a moment before nodding, vanishing in a flash of light just as Ebony wraps himself in darkness. Bursts of white and black can be seen throughout the stadium as the two creatures clash again and again.

"I didn't know Scrappy could do that," Sam tells me. "But it sure is cool. Cocoa, Night Slash on Ivory!"

Cocoa's tail blades exude black energy as she slings her body forward, aiming for Ivory again. This time, though, Miriam's ready for it.

"Ivory, Razor Star!" she shouts, and Ivory's head blades begin glowing with pure white power before pushing off the ground and entering a quickly spinning rotation as she darts forward. The two attacks meet head-on, and the resulting force smacks both of them backward, but they rush in again, blades clashing as they battle it out.

This is getting us nowhere; Scrappy, Cocoa, Ebony, and Ivory are all pretty much evenly matched. At this rate, we'll be here all night. Time to switch things up a bit.

"Scrappy!" I shout, and the two supersonic Pokemon pause in their invisible battle. "Go help out Cocoa with Close Combat!"

The Xengoose nods, and darts off in Cocoa and Ivory's direction, where they're still duking it out, blades flying everywhere. Scrappy's claws gain an amber color as he rushes in, dodging between the various sharp objects and slams a claw into Ivory's chest, making her falter just enough for Cocoa to cut into Ivory with her Night Slash. This opens up even more opportunities for Scrappy's vicious Close Combat attacks, sending Ivory crashing into the ground in front of Miriam.

"Ivory!" Miriam calls out worriedly, but the Inevita struggles to her feet, breathing heavily. "Oh, thank goodness," she sighs before turning to her brother. "We need to finish this fast. These guys are giving us a run for our money."

He nods, then turns to their Pokemon. "One more Balance Blast!" They each charge Balance Beam, and I'm forced to think fast.

"Cocoa! Dig in! Scrappy, follow it under!" The Balance Beams are let loose, and they combine to form the almighty Balance Blast that almost did us in last time. I can't see if Scrappy and Cocoa were able to make it out after the explosive after-effects of this Gym's most powerful attack.

The dust slowly settles to reveal a large hole in the middle of an even bigger crater, and I grin. Time to end this. "Scrappy, Cocoa! Balance Beam!"

Ebony and Ivory are looking around in confusion, so they don't see the bulge in the ground behind them, or the beam of intense light and dark energy that plows into them, knocking them clear across the battlefield, where they slide to a stop in front of us, unconscious.

"Ivory and Ebony are unable to battle! The round and the match go to Samantha Harding and Remus Yucatan!" announces Mrs. Springer.

We quickly recall Scrappy and Cocoa, not wanting to see if what the Pokedex said is true, and head over to the middle of the battlefield to meet up with Hiram and Miriam.

"That was an interesting battle," Hiram says with a wry smile. "I didn't think anyone could have the kind of teamwork that could trump mine and Miriam's." He shrugs, then holds out a pair of poker chips from Caesar's Palace, except they were black and white in color, with a royal flush in spades in the middle of them. "Anyway, here. You've beaten us and our Dark and Light Pokemon team. You earned the Casino Badge, the official badge of the Las Vegas Gym, pertaining to the rules of the American Pokemon League."

"And you get all this nifty prize money," Miriam adds, holding up a tote bag with the Caesar's Palace logo stamped on the front of it, "which you can use to win even more money at our dad's casino!"

"Uh, no thanks," I reply with a sheepish grin. "Sam's already spent enough money here as it is." Retaliation in three, two, one... "Ouch!"

Sam retracts her elbow from my gut with a glare. "It was only a hundred dollars or so," she states primly. "Besides, you won it all back anyway, so the point is moot."

"You're just jealous that I have better luck than you," I shoot back, smirking despite the pain in my midsection. "I was actually worried that your shitty luck would outweigh my sparklingly fair fortune and we'd lose today."

I probably shouldn't have pushed my 'sparklingly fair fortune,' and receive a kick to the shins as Fate's way of telling me to know my place.

And so, after a final round of applause from the crowd and a few photos with Hiram and Miriam for the papers, Sam and I make our egress, with a new badge and an ass-load of money. Today ended up rather well, if I do say so myself, and I'm one step closer to catching that dream I've been chasing for the better part of my life.

**A/N: And there it is! This is the first fanfiction in which I've made it past the ten-chapter hump, so congratulations are in order! Yay me (without sounding like a self-absorbed douche, I'm just proud of myself), yay! Anyway, Remy got his second badge, and now it's off to the Rain Nightclub for Flash Cannon's second Battle-of-the-Bands gig, so you can look forward to that and stuff. I'm done, so whatever. Reviews are necessary for my paranoid-ass mind to not think that nobody likes my writing, so...uh...droppin' a pretty big hint here, folks. Peace.**


	11. Admission of Defeat

Hey, everyone. So...I've been thinking about this for a very long time, and I've finally come to the conclusion that I can't keep writing fanfiction at the present time. There's too much bullshit going on in my life right now, and I have to deal with all of that before I can even think about frolicking in the fields of fandoms. Maybe sometime in the future, I'll start writing some more, but as of right now, it's just not an option.

Please don't hate me, even though it's fully in your rights to do so. I just had a very close relative pass on, which isn't reason enough to be deleting my profile, but coupled with the fact that my oldest and dearest friend killed himself on Valentine's Day...well, you get the idea.

To all of you who have favorited, followed, or reviewed my stories, thank you. Thank you _so_ much for all the wonderful things and constructive criticisms you've offered me. Also, I apologize with all my heart that I won't be able to continue these tales that you enjoyed, or that I might have disappointed you with this news.

On that note, I would be fully willing to let any of you take the helm and adopt any of my stories. I would hate for my fanfics to die; I can't keep up with them, but I put a lot of effort into some of them, while others have just begun, and it breaks my heart that I won't be the one to finish them.

If anyone wants to adopt, please PM me so I can check out your own writing. Be warned, some of these fics have minds of their own, and are very difficult to wrestle into submission; trust me, I know from experience.

Other than that, I wish all of you luck in life,

Fullmetal Wetback


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